


The Beautiful Way

by CrunchySalad



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Drama, Long and Complete, M/M, Pederasty, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-28
Updated: 2011-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-19 11:02:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 38,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/200120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrunchySalad/pseuds/CrunchySalad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a fictionalized Edo-period Japan of demons, samurai and priests, Byakuya is a young samurai bound to the practice of wakashudo. An older samurai is expected to take his young apprentice as a lover, until the apprentice comes of age and in turn takes an apprentice-lover of his own.</p><p>In Part I, Byakuya is a young apprentice who is reluctant to make a lover out of Kenpachi, his boor of a master. But just when they finally come to understand each other, they are separated. In Part II, a priest named Renji comes to Japan, where he is shocked to see love between men practiced so openly. He tries to lecture Byakuya on the sins of sodomy, all the while fighting an intense attraction to the other man. In Part III, Byakuya has come of age and has taken an apprentice-lover of his own. But when a man from his past comes back into the picture, he's forced to make some unexpected decisions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Love and Last Rites

**Author's Note:**

> Table of Contents  
> Part I . . . . . . . . . First Love and Last Rites  
> Part II . . . . . . The Tempting of Abarai Renji  
> Part III . . . . . . Ode to the Mercurial Kitsune
> 
>  
> 
> Glossary
> 
>  _Wakashudo_ : A pederastic tradition where an older samurai would take his young apprentice as a lover, until the apprentice came of age and henceforth took a lover/apprentice of his own. It was exclusive of heterosexual relationships, so a man could have a wife or see female prostitutes while having a male lover. Also known as bi-do, which translates as "the beautiful way."
> 
>  _Nenja:_ The master/teacher in a wakashudo relationship.
> 
>  _Wakashu:_ The apprentice/student in a wakashudo relationship.
> 
>  _Koku_ : A unit of currency equal to five bushels of rice.
> 
>  _Botchan_ : A title given to the young son of a lord.
> 
>  _Tekkou_ : The black fingerless hand coverings that Byakuya wears in the manga.
> 
>  _Kyahan_ : Fabric calf coverings.
> 
>  _Onna-girai_ : Woman-hater. Used to refer to men who only enjoy the company of other men.

It had been a long while since he had come to his family estate. It was just as pristine, just as opulent as he remembered, a sharp contrast to the humble dojo that he now called his home. He strode with purpose through those familiar corridors, through the lacquered screen doors that automatically opened before him, pulled apart by unseen servants. It didn't take long until he came to the appropriate room, and he walked to the middle of it before bowing low to the floor.

The tips of Byakuya's ponytail touched the polished wood. The royal blue silk of his kimono sleeves pooled in front of his head as the black tekkou on his wrists and forearms touched the floor. His kimono was cut short and tied with a thick black obi, though the sash did nothing to prevent the kimono from riding up a little in the back as Byakuya bent down. The fabric climbed further up his legs, exposing some more of his slim, muscled thighs, though not any amount that would be considered vulgar. At least the bottom half of his legs were covered by black kyahan.

"You called for me," he said, addressing the men sitting at a long, low table in front of him. They were the elders of his family, and for them to have gathered and called him meant that this meeting was of great importance. Byakuya knew exactly what they wanted to talk about; after all, he had yet to lay with the man the elders had selected to be his master.

Byakuya did his best to lift his eyes up while keeping his head bowed. He could barely see his own grandfather, seated in the exact middle of his table. But Ginrei was leaning back a little bit while the other elders sat upright, surely a physical sign that he was content to let the others discuss Byakuya's transgressions for now.

"We have heard from the owner of your dojo," said one, "that you have failed to consummate your relationship with Zaraki."

Zaraki's name brought a small scowl to young Byakuya's lips. "The man is a boor. He neglects the pen to pursue the sword. He fails to practice any of the refined samurai arts, battle the only thing filling his head. I don't see how I can be expected to-"

"Is it not true that you yourself consented to this relationship?"

Byakuya's teeth clenched together at the reminder. When he had chosen the samurai who would become his teacher, Zaraki had been the obvious choice on paper. Who better to learn the martial arts from, than a man whose countless victories were known as far away as Nagasaki? A man whose name evoked fear from not only his enemies but also several of his peers? Byakuya now knew he should have also conducted research into the man's personality as well, but he had assumed that someone so accomplished on the battlefield would be just as exalted off of it. He had been wrong.

"Need I remind you," said some great-uncle, once removed, "how important the tradition of wakashudo is to the samurai way of life? As your nenja, Zaraki is able to teach you of martial arts and the samurai code of honor. As his wakashu, your influence will encourage him to behave more honorably himself."

Byakuya had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from speaking; he hardly believed he could influence Zaraki to behave honorably.

"A physical relationship is necessary for strengthening the lifelong bonds that will develop between the two of you. At the most practical level, you must at least learn how love between men is conducted, if only to take your own wakashu once you have come of age. Do you not agree, Byakuya?"

"I agree," Byakuya replied, knowing that there was no other response open to him.

"Yes. There is no greater joy, while one is still a boy, to come to brightest bloom among heroic lovers.* And I do not think that you can have any complaints as to Zaraki's heroic stature."

"No," Byakuya agreed, when deliberate silence prompted him to. "I do not."

"Then you will begin your courtship of him henceforth, and enter into a physical relationship as soon as he is willing to. You are dismissed, Byakuya."

Byakuya touched his forehead to the floor once before standing and turning. He made his way out without raising his eyes from the floor, as was expected on this occasion. While his every stride and facial expression was calm, collected, even regal, underneath that placid surface he was stewing. The thought of laying with Zaraki left a taste like bile in his mouth. He knew, though, that this day would come eventually. His family would not allow him to bring dishonor on the tradition of wakashudo. He supposed that it was fortunate he had been allowed to prolong this for so long.

Outside the gates of the sprawling Kuchiki estate stood a solitary horse, the color of a moonless night sky. Her reigns were held by a bowing servant, but they were quickly transfered to Byakuya's hands as the boy walked by. The servant remained bowing as Byakuya straddled his horse and pressed his heels together, sending them on a path towards the dojo they both called home.

It didn't take long to get there, or maybe Byakuya was just accustomed to the distance. He had to admit he enjoyed being on a horse, enjoyed the feel of the land as she galloped over it and the cool, harsh wind against his skin. Coupled with the fact that he was dreading what was to come with Zaraki, it was no wonder the trip seemed as short as it did. Once there, Byakuya was slow to walk his horse to her stable, and he was just as slow making his way inside the dojo.

It was dark. The only light inside the main hall came in from narrow windows, but the stars and quarter-full moon did little to illuminate the room on this particular day. Byakuya could barely see the small futons laid out on the floor, the slim bodies nestled in each one. The main hall doubled as a sleeping space for all the students who had yet to come of age. Byakuya had been chagrined to discover the communal sleeping conditions, until his father had gently but firmly reminded him that he was honor-bound to follow the traditions of the dojo.

For now, though, Byakuya ignored the empty futon that had been laid out for him, no doubt by one of his peers. Instead, he made his way deeper into the dojo, towards the room of the man he had chosen to be his teacher. It was easy to find, despite the lack of lights. All Byakuya had to do was follow the noise; out of everyone in the dojo, only Zaraki and his co-horts kept such late hours. The sound of boisterous laughter and half-slurred taunts became louder and louder, until Byakuya was in front of Zaraki's door. Without so much as a knock Byakuya pushed it open.

Silence took over as three sets of eyes looked up at him, all of them bemused, though to varying degrees. And Zaraki was at the center of it, coal black eyes glowing under the lamp light that flooded the room. Thin, wet black hair flowed down on both sides of his face, framing the large smirk that was spreading over his lips.

"Well, well," Zaraki said, "if it isn't the little prince. It's rare for you to visit me. Don't tell me you came to drink with us?"

"Hardly," Byakuya scoffed, his chin lifting up just slightly. "I have decided that it would be appropriate for us to enter into a physical relationship."

Zaraki let out a loud, crisp laugh. "Yeah? That mean I can finally fuck you?"

The question prompted a cold glare from Byakuya. Yumichika and Ikkaku, for their parts, were content to watch the proceedings out of the corners of their eyes. They knew better than to involve themselves in an argument between Zaraki and a Kuchiki, but they were loath to miss this exchange as well. Apparently, though, they had no say in the matter, as Zaraki made a silent gesture for them to get out. They shuffled out past Byakuya, grabbing their lanterns and any still-full sake bottles along the way.

The door shut behind them and Byakuya was left alone with his nenja. There was only one lantern to illuminate the space between them now, and the orange glass cast a strange glow over Zaraki's face.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Zaraki asked. "Come here."

Nose scrunched up in distaste, Byakuya nonetheless obeyed. He wasn't going to give his family cause to call for him again. His bare feet padded across wood, his small footsteps strangely loud in the room. A calloused hand closed around his wrist, and Byakuya felt himself pulled into Zaraki's lap. Zaraki wasted no time in burying his face in the crook of a neck, in pressing his hand against a smooth inner thigh.

"So soft," he murmured, kneading the flesh of Byakuya's thigh. The soft puffs of air the passed his lips sent shivers, quite involuntarily, radiating down Byakuya's spine.

Byakuya shut his eyes and grit his teeth as he forced his body to go relatively limp. It wasn't the sex, of course, that offended him. He had been taught the ways of wakashudo since he had been a mere fledgling, and knew the importance of physical release and pleasure. It was sex with Zaraki that was so distasteful. But, eyes closed, Zaraki could have been any stranger, any man. He even had a surprisingly pleasant smell about him, a soft bouquet of soap and shampoo and cleanliness.

Lips and mouth suckled on his neck in a way Byakuya had to admit was not unpleasant, and a firm hand kneaded its way up his thigh. And all the while he was being lowered, lowered, until his back met the cotton of Zaraki's futon. Zaraki's fingers moved just a little bit higher, just enough to brush, ever so lightly, against the fundoshi that covered Byakuya's groin. A gasp escaped from Byakuya's mouth, and he felt Zaraki's mouth mold itself into a grin against his neck.

"Finally got a response out of you?" Zaraki asked, his voice half smothered in Byakuya's skin.

Byakuya cringed at the question, at Zaraki's reinserted presence in his mind.

"Don't speak," he said, quite surprised when Zaraki actually listened to him.

Instead of an answering response, Zaraki pressed a kiss against Byakuya's neck as he moved his fingers more insistently against Byakuya's crotch. Byakuya gasped in response, his body arching into the touch as though it had a strength of will of its own. Those fingers left him momentarily, moving to pull apart the obi tied around his waist before returning to their previous position.

Fingers kneaded hardening flesh as a wet mouth moved down across a pale chest. It was so easy, Byakuya thought, to let the pleasure consume him To arch his chest towards those kisses, to grow hard under that expert touch. Soon he was completely stiff, straining against the now-tight fabric of his fundoshi. That hot mouth found its way to a nipple, and his fingers couldn't help but tangle themselves in wet hair as gentle suction was applied. He moaned as a tongue moved around the apex of his nipple, as teeth bit against the sensitive flesh ever so lightly.

Too soon the mouth left his nipple, leaving it stiff and cool in the drying air. But more kisses were placed down his abdomen, and then one singular kiss was pressed, with utmost deliberation, against the fabric covering the very tip of his cock. Byakuya moaned as his cock was enveloped by heat and moisture through the fabric of his fundoshi. Lips and tongue mouthed the shape of his erection, sending pleasure flooding through his body. And then it stopped. A cheek nuzzled against Byakuya's groin, pressing against it in a way that sent shivers through Byakuya's body. Then, with one firm pull, his fundoshi was pulled apart like the ribbon on a gift.

He could feel his hard cock bob in the cool air, then cried as it was taken into a hot, wet mouth. The sensation was too different, too much, not at all like anything he had ever felt while playing with himself. His fingers constricted, his legs sprayed outward, and his hips attempted to thrust up into that delicious heat. But when Zaraki started to suck he couldn't contain himself anymore. Utter pleasure flooded his cock and spread out throughout his body. Byakuya cried out as his fingers pulled at Zaraki's hair, as his balls tightened. Every nerve in his body lit up as he came, semen spilling deep into Zaraki's throat.

It took several deep breaths, post-orgasm, for Byakuya to come back to reality. His every muscle was limp, including the one still enjoying the attention of Zaraki's mouth. But then Zaraki let him go and moved up his body, pushing him softly to lay on his side. His kimono, already in a precarious state as it dangled off his arms, was completely pulled away. He grit his teeth as his back made contact with Zaraki's hard, scarred chest, as an arm came to wrap around him. He could feel Zaraki's length, hard as steel, rub against the curves of his backside. Zaraki started to thrust against him, rubbing his large cock against Byakuya's skin, loud grunts sounding from directly behind Byakuya's ear.

A few moments later, understanding dawned on Byakuya. His eyes snapped open as his hands clenched in anger, realizing that Zaraki had no intention of consummating their union. What insult was this. . . Zaraki seemed content to rut against him like an animal. Like a dog humping a pillow. Byakuya shook, wondering why he had expected more than this bit of vulgarity from Zaraki. He attempted to move away, but Zaraki's arm held him back, his thrusts increasing in speed. In a moment he gave a louder grunt than usual, and Byakuya was horrified to feel hot cum splatter onto his back.

Byakuya shoved back against Zaraki as he shot up to his feet.

"Vulgar beast," he spit out, as he wrapped his kimono loosely around himself. "I am your wakashu, not some inanimate object to hump against."

Zaraki was laughing, something that angered Byakuya to no end.

"Yeah? Coulda fooled me, given how much you were participating. Look, kid, you want me to fuck you? Do a better job with your seduction next time around."

"An animal like you doesn't deserve the effort," Byakuya bit out. He turned and headed for the door.

"Hey! Where are you off to?"

"To wash your dirt and stink off me!" Byakuya called back, fuming as he made his way towards the well.

Byakuya held his kimono together with his hands as he made his way through the corridors of the dojo and out the back. As he stepped out of folding screen doors cool air surrounded him, calmed him. Loath as he was to admit it, he realized that he had been too hotheaded. This would no doubt warrant another scolding by his elders, if the news of it ever reached then.

But it was past, and there was nothing he could do about it. Byakuya stepped towards the well, discarding his robe as he did so. His small hands grabbed the harsh rope that hung there and started to pull. The night was relatively silent, and the sound of water sloshing back and forth as it was lifted relatively loud. It wasn't long before he had pulled up the pail, and Byakuya wasted no time in pouring its contents over his body. Cold water washed over his skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. As his body was washed clean of Zaraki's wretched seed, Byakuya started to feel better about things. This would never reach his elders, as long as he consummated their relationship soon.

Zaraki's ingratitude, however, continued to perplex Byakuya. If Zaraki had any sense at all he would take his time worshipping every inch of Byakuya's body, instead of treating him as just a common object of lust. It was, Byakuya considered, only proper considering his pedigree.

"Byakuya? That you?"

Byakuya frowned at the use of his given name. He looked over his bare shoulder, at the drowsy man who stood there, one hand running through shaggy hair.

"Shiba," he said, "even though you are my elder, it is still inappropriate for you to address me by my given name."

"Oh, yeah." Kaien yawned as he stepped closer, not even bothering to cover his mouth as he did so. "Sorry, I forgot. So what are you doing out here, Byakuya?"

Byakuya bristled, but only bit his tongue as he lowered the pail into the well once again. "I could ask the same of you. Should you not be at the house you share with your wife?"

As he pulled up some more water Byakuya could hear the rustle of cloth indicating that Kaien had taken a seat on the wooden steps. Just his luck the man was in the mood for conversation.

"Old Man Yama wanted to talk about something with a bunch of us, and then we ended up drinking, and I ended up crashing here."

Of course. Byakuya's hands grabbed the metal rim on the bucket, and once again poured the cold water over his skin. He felt, for the moment, clean enough, and let the pail drop back into the well for the last time.

"What about you?" Kaien asked. "Having problems with Zaraki? Again?"

"I made a mistake in choosing that man as my nenja." Byakuya turned around to pick up his kimono, only to realize it had been laid out on the wooden floor next to Kaien. Kaien smiled and patted the space beside him, clearly indicating that he wanted Byakuya to join him.

"It's a nice night," Kaien said, "and you don't look sleepy."

Byakuya had to admit that Kaien had a point. He wasn't going to be able to fall asleep, at least not for a little bit. Besides, there was something about being nude out of doors that Byakuya had always enjoyed. Some combination of the fresh air on his skin and the sensation of being completely unencumbered. He took a seat next to Kaien, even allowing himself to lean back a little bit, though his posture remained nowhere near as relaxed as Kaien's was.

"Zaraki's a good warrior," Kaien said, always one to note the silver lining in a situation.

"A good warrior and a boorish man," Byakuya countered, nose scrunching just slightly in distaste.

Kaien laughed a little at the statement. "Man, you're a lot more difficult than I was at your age."

"At least your nenja was civilized," Byakuya said, protesting Kaien's implication that it was actually Byakuya who was at fault here.

"Yeah, well, now you're making me all nostalgic. Although I guess I should be taking a wakashu of my own pretty soon. What did Zaraki do this time, at any rate?"

"He failed to consummate our relationship," Byakuya said, face wrinkled in disgust, "and spilled himself against my skin."

Kaien cracked up laughing. "Oh, no! Your clean, silky soft skin. What an offense."

Byakuya frowned and hardened his eyes towards Kaien. Now he remembered why he disliked speaking with the blunt, overly-familiar man. "It is, actually, very offensive."

"What, a teaspoon of semen? You couldn't just wipe it off with a cloth?"

"Must you be so vulgar? And to think you actually come from a dignified line of samurai."

"Hey, what's that got to do with this?" Kaien asked. "Besides, you just started to make overtures at him, right? It's not like he's going to go straight to sodomy, he has to get you ready first."

"Ready?" Byakuya asked. He blinked up at Kaien, looking more innocent than he had any right to.

Kaien gulped as Byakuya looked at him. The air between them suddenly felt so heavy, and he was realizing just how pale and smooth Byakuya's flesh seemed. His throat felt all of a sudden dry. "Umm. . . yeah. . . it can hurt, you know. You have to stretch it out."

Byakuya raised an eyebrow. He had never before heard Kaien's voice sound so. . . small. "And how, exactly, did Ukitake-san get you ready for love between men?"

Kaien could feel his skin heat up, could feel his lower body respond to the question. ". . . With. . . fingers. . . usually."

"Hmm." Byakuya looked up into the sky, gray eyes taking on a soft and contemplative hue.

Kaien's eyes, however, remained fixated on Byakuya. Brat though he was, Byakuya was at the age when he would be the most beautiful, with his large eyes and rounded cheeks. It made Kaien wish that he had been eligible to take a wakashu when Byakuya had come onto the market. He watched, riveted, as Byakuya laid his upper body completely down on the kimono-covered floor beneath him. As a smooth leg bent upwards and spread out just a little bit. He watched as Byakuya's hand traced down the contours of his abdomen, past a sparse dusting of pubic hair, past the slim cock that lay limp above two round balls.

Kaien gulped. Byakuya wasn't actually going to. . . oh. So he was. Kaien watched as Byakuya's eyes fluttered half-shut, as the most delicious-sounding sigh spilled from his lips. And his hand reached back, disappearing between two creamy thighs. While Kaien couldn't see what was happening, he could certainly imagine it. He could imagine, in his mind, the sight of a small, pink hole, a long, thin finger pressing against it. His heart raced as he imagined it opening up, imagined that finger sliding deep inside of it.

"How. . . " Kaien had to clear his throat, his voice came out so saturated with lust. "How does it feel?"

Byakuya's features were disappointingly neutral. "It feels. . . strange. It doesn't feel like much of anything. Perhaps I'm not doing it correctly."

"Do you. . . need help?" Kaien was pushing it, he knew. If Byakuya had consummated his relationship with Zaraki, Kaien would never ask such a thing, but. . . Byakuya hadn't, had he? So what was the harm?

"Mmm. . . fine."

Kaien pushed himself off the steps, knees touching down on the grass between Byakuya's spread legs. He was just in time to watch Byakuya pull the top of his finger out, to watch that tiny hole close up round it. His cock ached at the sight, and he rubbed at it through the soft fabric of his yukata as he stuck the middle finger of his other hand into his mouth.

"Okay," he said, taking his finger out of his mouth, "I'm going in."

Kaien gulped, once again, as he looked at that little pink hole. It twitched, slightly, as it waited for him, and the sight sent a jolt straight to his groin. He pulled his yukata apart and pulled his hard cock out of the side of his fundoshi, even as he reached forward with his finger.

As Kaien stroked himself he traced a circle around Byakuya's puckered entrance. He could feel it shiver underneath his fingertip, could see it undulate in front of him. He pressed against the very center of it, ever so slightly, watching as just the pad of his fingertip slid in. He pulled away, just a little bit, before pushing his finger in again. It slid in slowly, unbearably so.

Kaien's heart seemed stopped in his chest. Byakuya was hot and velvet soft, tighter than Miyaki but, unfortunately, not as wet. Still, it was an indescribable feeling to have his finger enveloped in this particular kind of heat. It was, for lack of better words, amazing. He wondered if this is what it felt like the first time Ukitake had fingered him, if this was the pleasure that his former master had felt. Part of him wanted to know what his cock would feel like enveloped in that tight heat, but he knew that doing that would be going too far. Besides, Byakuya was too tight, and while saliva would do for one finger it would certainly not be enough for anything larger.

Soon his finger was buried to the hilt, and though he enjoyed the sight of it he couldn't help but look up into Byakuya's face. The boy's eyelids were half-closed, his lips moist and half-parted. Though he didn't look as though he was in any strong kind of pleasure, it certainly wasn't his usual expression of disdain. Kaien looked back down. He didn't think there was enough lubricant for him to properly finger the boy; saliva, unfortunately, tended to dry out soon enough.

Instead, Kaien slowly, slowly, pulled his finger out, careful to feel along the front of Byakuya's rectum along the way. When he had pulled out the base segment of his finger he felt it, a slight protrusion on Byakuya's rectal wall that felt like wrinkled skin. Apparently Byakuya felt it as well, as he gasped and scrunched his face up in displeasure.

"Sorry," Kaien said, moving his finger slightly to the side, so that it was on the edge of the protrusion. "Too much pressure?"

Byakuya nodded in response, even as his face relaxed.

The boy was, Kaien thought, certainly more sensitive than Kaien himself was at that age. He remembered that he had loved nothing more than for Ukitake to make firm come hither motions against his prostate, but apparently that would be too much for Byakuya, unless he managed to do it as gently as possible. No matter; direct stimulation wasn't the only option.

Kaien started to rub along the edge of Byakuya's prostate in circular motions. From the barely audible sigh that escaped from Byakuya's lips, the boy seemed to like it. Kaien started slow at first, but built up a steady pace, careful never to exert too much pressure. Soon enough Byakuya's eyelids shuttered almost entirely closed, while his cock rose from its previous repose. It was half-hard and curved toward his right hip when it started to leak seminal fluid. The consistency of pre-cum, it dripped from the slit of his cock onto the soft skin of his thigh.

Kaien licked his lips at the sight. He tugged more harshly on his own cock as he watched Byakuya's leaking penis. Every several moments a new drop would appear, the thin consistency causing it to drip down right away. The liquid dripped down Byakuya's thigh, pooling in the crevice where thigh met pelvis. Soon Kaien sped up his motions even more, pressed just a little bit more insistently. A period of draught occurred, followed, out of nowhere, by a flood of fluid. Byakuya's cock leaked like a faucet slightly turned on, thin white liquid dripping out in a steady stream, until there was a good few ounces of it on his thigh. It was a delicious sight, all that cream on Byakuya's silky skin, and all Kaien had to do was look at it and tug, one last time, before he sucked in a breath and spilled himself onto the grass beneath him.

Even as he spent himself, Kaien didn't forgot to take care of Byakuya. Though his orgasm left him momentarily fuzzy, he still continued to rub circles around Byakuya's prostate, until the boy's cock started to go limp again. He slowly pulled his finger out, then looked up to see Byakuya's contented expression. Though someone else's semen touching his skin was a vulgar and offensive thought, Byakuya seemed fine when the mess was his own.

"How was that?" Kaien asked.

"Pleasant enough." Byakuya stretched before lifting himself up. He would have to wash again, but that wasn't such a difficult task. Kaien's attentions had certainly felt. . . different. Not quite an orgasm, but pleasurable in its own right. At any rate he was tired now, and had no doubt that he would easily fall asleep. Tomorrow he would deal with Zaraki, but for now he could content himself to dream.

Dawn came in just a few hours. Byakuya blinked open eyes to see some of his peers had already awaken and were rolling up their futons for storage. He quickly got up himself, not the type to dally. Morning at the dojo brought with it the usual routine for the young samurai. Cleaning the main hall, eating a simple breakfast, and then practicing katas, after which there were more individualized, freeform schedules.

Byakuya was in the middle of practicing katas when he spied Yumichika in the doorway, trying to get his attention. He stopped and made his way over, frowning at the rather effeminate man. Yumichika was obviously trying to live out his glory days as a sought after wakashu, a role Byakuya felt he was too old to be playing.

"What is it?" Byakuya asked.

Yumichika, used to the way Byakuya treated those he felt were lesser beings, ignored the boy's curt tone of voice.

"Ken-chan says to be ready in an hour. The two of you are leaving on a mission." Yumichika fluttered too long eyelashes, no doubt amplified using make-up he had bought from the last traveling acting troupe. "A little honeymoon, perhaps?"

Byakuya walked off without bothering to respond to Yumichika's inane chatter. At any rate, he didn't need an hour to pack. All he needed were his katana and wakizashi, and he gathered them from the same closet his futon was stored in. He tucked them into his waist, along with a pouch of money, and made his way towards the front of the dojo. Along the way he passed by Kaien, who gave him a wink and sheepish grin. Byakuya ignored him, of course. He was in no mood for Kaien's antics. A disheartened murmur of "so cold" was heard from the hallway as he left, though Byakuya hardly cared.

Soon enough Byakuya found himself in front of the dojo, where Zaraki was waiting with their horses. He cocked a grin as he watched Byakuya make his way towards him.

"Figured you wouldn't need an hour," Zaraki said.

"What is our task?" Byakuya asked, wasting no time in jumping onto his horse.

"There's been reports of vandals in the Eastern Forest, near the borders of this land. The daimyo asked us to take care of it."

Byakuya nodded. It was a simple enough assignment. He was excited to be able to put his skills to use, even if it did mean he would have to travel with Zaraki. Byakuya spurred his horse and set off, not surprised when Zaraki caught up a few moments later and took the lead. They rode without stopping for hours, over hilled terrains and through thin forest groves. They didn't stop until sundown. The village by the eastern forest appeared on the horizon just as the sky turned purple with the setting sun. Byakuya and Zaraki slowed down as they approached, riding their horses into dusty, quiet streets, watching as the villagers made their way through their daily lives.

Byakuya had never been to this town, but it was not much different from the town he had grown up in. They came to a small, simple building on the outskirts of the town and tied their horses to a fence on the side.

"Is this the local dojo?" Byakuya asked.

"Close. It's the brothel."

Zaraki laughed at the scowl that appeared on Byakuya's face.

"Don't worry, Kid, this is where the samurai we're meeting hangs out. It's always business before pleasure with you, huh?"

"It is our duty," Byakuya replied, though he scarcely knew why he should have to remind Zaraki that.

"Yeah. Sure."

The two made their way inside the nondescript building, which was more of an inn than a den of ill-repute. Byakuya supposed that in small towns like these, the consolidation of multiple functions was necessary. Zaraki had a quick conversation with the man at the front desk, and then they were led upstairs and down a narrow hallway. A door was opened, and Byakuya found himself staring into a quant yet small room. There was a man laying on the tatami mets, clothes in a loose floral kimono and peach haori, wavy hair swept up into an all-too-messy topknot. Two women in sheer yukata served him sake, and Zaraki and Byakuya came to join him on the floor.

"Kenpachi," he said, "it's been a long time."

"Shunsui. Looking at your face brings back memories. Bad ones."

The two men laughed at Zaraki's words, and the women poured fresh cups of sake for Zaraki and Byakuya. The women left, presumably to bring back food, and Byakuya sipped his cup of sake as the other two started to reminisce about earlier times. A waste of time, Byakuya thought, but he knew that it wasn't his place to say anything. It wasn't until they were all half-full, engorged on the small feast that had been laid out before them, that the two men saw fit to get down to business.

Byakuya couldn't help but drift away as their conversation turned to more serious matters. His lack of sleep from the night before, coupled with the long journey of today, contrived to make his eyelids heavy and thoughts unfocused. Still, even as his head would tilt to one side, Byakuya fought to pay attention to the situation at hand. This is what he had come here for, after all. But Shinsui's voice was like a lullaby, lulling him to sleep.

". . . thieves and vagrants have been attacking travelers taking the route through the Eastern forest. Up until now it's always been the safest way to cross to the next territory, and actually still is. . . all the other alternatives are much too perilous, you know that as well as I. Which is why safeguarding this route is so important. Most of the travelers are allowed to leave; after all, it's valuables the group is looking for. It's only the travelers who resist that are killed, those and. . . well. . ."

"Spit it out, Shunsui, you know you won't scare me away."

"Well, every so often they take a captive. Suffice it to say, that captive is never seen again. One of the samurai were able to follow some of them one day, and he followed them to the rock caves in the forest valley."

"Huh. Those despicable oni still make a nest there?"

"Yes. So what other conclusion could there be? In return for providing an oni with food, they receive a safe place to hide. Lord knows none of our samurai are willing to venture inside of an oni's den, but then again, they're all pretty young."

"Don't tell me you're too soft to do it."

A soft chuckle. "You know me, if there's a fight, I'll try my best to avoid it."

Byakuya scarcely noticed when his eyelids grew to heavy and finally closed. When he woke up it was dawn again, and he was laying on a soft futon that had been laid out in the room. There was an empty futon placed close to his. . . but Zaraki wasn't in it. How rare for the man to wake early. Byakuya stood up and ventured out of the room, not forgetting to take his swords with him. A round, elderly woman in the hallway, no doubt an employ of the inn, smiled and bowed as he passed her, but Byakuya ignored her. He made his way downstairs, also ignoring, at least for now, the smell of miso soup wafting from the kitchen.

Byakuya didn't have to go far to find his master. The was a small dirt lot near the inn, and that's where he found Zaraki, sparring with several local children. They ran at him with their wooden swords, only to laugh and run away when he roared at them. Byakuya, needless to say, was perplexed.

"Didn't know he had a soft spot for children, did you?"

Byakuya looked back and up at the voice, only to see Shunsui, dressed in more appropriate kimono and hakama of solid, non-floral hues. He had his katana at his side and had tekkou on his forearms.

"He no doubt just enjoys terrifying them," Byakuya replied, turning back to watch Zaraki.

Shunsui chuckled at the statement. "Maybe. Maybe not. You should get a good breakfast in, we'll be leaving soon. Word is a large group of thieves are laying in wait on the path today; good opportunity to see how they fare against the three of us."

Byakuya nodded as Shunsui walked away. Zaraki turned to look up at him, grinning as he made his way over, one small child attached to either leg.

"The little prince come out to play?"

Byakuya scrunched his nose up at the question. "Hardly. Although I'm not surprised that you're out here playing instead of doing something worthwhile."

"Yeah? Spending time with the people we're supposed to be protecting isn't worthwhile? I guess they're too beneath you to be worth your time, huh?"

Byakuya crossed his arms in front of his chest as he stepped forward a little bit. "I will have you know that the Kuchiki family donates at least twenty koku to the local village every year. Philanthropy is-"

"Yeah, yeah," Zaraki said, lopsided grin still plastered on his face, "you rich types give out rice and coins like it's nothing and congratulate yourselves for it, but you're only doing it to make yourselves feel good. When was the last time you went into your local village, huh? When was the last time you helped one of those villagers build a house, or teach a kid some swordplay skills? I'm willing to bet you never have, cause your kind would rather write poems or draw the same characters over and over again instead of actually giving a shit about the world around you."

Byayuka flushed as Zaraki insulted the noble arts of haiku and calligraphy. He turned on his heel and stomped off. "You are the most infuriating man I have ever met!"

"Yeah, well, you're still a spoiled brat!"

Byakuya stomped his way back into the inn, then into the dining area, where he sat down across a table from Shunsui. Before Shunsui could even say anything Byauya grabbed a bowl of rice porridge and started shoveling it into his mouth, not exactly caring if he was being rude for once.

Shunsui blinked at him. "Argument with Kenpachi? He told me that happened a lot."

Byakuya only shoveled the food in faster as a response. It wasn't long, however, before all three of them were gathered at the front of the town, about to make their way into the forest on foot. Byakuya had been intent on ignoring Zaraki as much as he could, but he couldn't help but stare at the larger man's back as they walked along the dirt road. Byakuya was loath to admit it, but now that he had calmed down he had to admit that Zaraki had made a point, albeit a tiny one. While Zaraki was wrong about haiku and calligraphy not being valid pursuits, maybe he was right about samurai spending more time with the people they were supposed to protect. Maybe Byakuya had been too harsh on him. . . just a little bit.

Still, Byakuya kept silent as they made their way into the forest. The two men were relatively quiet as well, keeping their conversation light-hearted compared to the night before. As they walked deeper into the forest the vegetation overhead grew thicker, but never enough to completely block out the sunlight that would scatter through the leaves and onto the road. The forest hummed with life, noises giving clues as to the action going on past the trees and undergrowth that blocked their vision. It was, Byakuya was pleased to admit, pleasant.

At one point, Byakuya saw a glimpse of silver fur through the trees, and thought he heard the cry of a small animal. He looked ahead. Zaraki and Shunsui were walking forward, but at a slow pace, and he could catch up. He stepped off the path and walked towards the pitiful mewling. He had gone just a few meters when he realized he was directly overhead the noise. He parted the leaves underneath him, and his breath caught at what he saw.

A fox lay there, his left paw caught in a common trap. The animal himself, however, was not just a common fox. His fur was silver, and seemed to glow with an ethereal light all its own. A kitsune. One of the fox spirits that lived on the daimyo's lands. With careful hands, Byakuya pried the trap apart, and watched as the young fox bounded away, casting him just one look backwards as he did so. Byakuya watched him leave, then returned to follow his master.

Fifteen minutes after they had started walking Zaraki stopped and walked off the road, gesturing for the other two to follow. He gestured Byajuya closer towards him.

"Do you see these indentations?" he asked, pointing at a dip in the vegetation.

Byakuya nodded.

"Footprints. Because of the consistency of the undergrowth they end up looking like big dips like these, but no one can make these but humans. They spring back up after a few hours, so these look like they're pretty fresh."

Byakuya nodded again, taking in Zaraki's little lesson.

"They're probably laying in wait not very far away," Shunsui said. "And they're probably watching the road. I doubt that we can get away with a sneak attack, considering how noisy the vegetation is."

Zaraki grinned. "Then we walk down the road, and hope to hell that they attack us."

Shunsui sighed, but seemed ready enough to capitulate. "Nothing for it, then."

The trio returned to the road and resumed their walk. Though they hadn't necessarily discussed it in detail, the plan was clear: lure out as many of the thieves as they could, kill as many of the thieves as they could. Even if there were vandals that didn't participate in the attack, as they suspected there would be, it would send a message. It took about an hour of walking, but then it happened. A noise in the bush that was too loud, too clumsy, to belong to an animal, and Byakuya's hand went to rest on the hilt of his katana. All three men slowed, but didn't stop, not wanting to raise suspicion.

They came around a bend in the road, and Byakuya almost ran into Zaraki as the older man stopped abruptly. There were two men in front of them, armed with spears. They were wearing the nondescript clothes of peasants, conical hats hiding their faces in shadow. One aimed the tip of his spear right at the soft flesh of Zaraki's neck.

"Your swords and your valuables," said one.

Zaraki only grinned. "Yeah? And who's going to make me? As far as I can see it, it's three against two here."

Just like clockwork, a circle of men surrounded them. Zaraki's grin grew larger as he glanced back at the other two. Silent agreement passed through them, and all at once they flew into action.

Byakuya spun behind him, going down on one knee as he plunged his katana into a waiting stomach. Fast as lightning he stood up and pulled it out in an upward slash, sending blood and guts out to spray all over the front of his chest ad his face. In the corner of his eyes he could see Shunsui faring no worse; for someone who avoided fights, he was certainly adept at swordplay. The vandals were running away, but the trio were quick to take after them, Zaraki leading the way.

They were quick, quicker than the thieves were, and the noise of the vegetation made them easy to follow. As Byakuya ran behind Zaraki he had the opportunity to see his master in action. Zaraki barely stopped each time he caught up with a vandal. As his feet hesitated for just a fraction of a second in their run, Zaraki would slash out with his katana, the elegant blade cutting clean, deep lines through their marks. A splatter of blood would arch through the air and onto the leaves, and the victim would fall mid-step, crumpled to the ground. This was the Zaraki that Byakuya had respected, that Byakuya had chosen: the Zaraki of the battlefield.

Eventually the forest changed. Byakuya noticed a declination in the ground, and deduced that they were entering the forest valley. It was an abrupt change; one second they were in inviting forest, the next in dark green near-darkness. The growth overhead here was ridiculously dens, and cut all but a few scattered rays of sun from falling to the ground. The trees were thick, the undergrowth covering rock and vine when once there was soil. And even more eerie was the silence. There was little life here, that much was clear.

Eventually they came to a cave, the opening of it gaping open like a monster's mouth. They could see but a few feet in; the rest was consumed by blackness.

"I guess this is where we stop," Shunsui said, his voice echoing strangely off the cave walls.

Zaraki snorted. "How many of them do you think we killed?"

"Enough that they'll think twice before attacking that route again." Shunsui turned towards Byakuya and smiled. "You're drenched in red. Happy that you got some action today?"

Byakuya nodded. "It's a much better experience than practicing swordplay in the dojo."

Shunsui chuckled. "Yeah. Bet it is. Well, I guess there's nothing more to do here. We should go clean up any bodies on the road. Wouldn't want to scare the travelers."

"You sure you don't want to head inside?" Zaraki asked, swinging his katana. "Could be a lot of fun."

"Yeah. Not interested."

Byakuya watched as Shunsui and Zaraki turned to leave, but couldn't help but look back one last time. He stepped just one foot farther into the cave, expecting to be able to see in just a little bit more. Nothing. He turned around, about to follow the two older samurai, when something wrapped around his waist.

Byakuya's eyes widened as he cried out. "Zara-"

Something closed over his mouth, but Zaraki had heard him. The man turned around, eyes widening in abject terror as he did so. He ran as fast as he could towards Byakuya, faster than Byakuya had ever seen him run. Byakuya reached forward even as he was pulled away. Zaraki's fingers just brushed his before he was wrenched away, and the Earth itself seemed to close up around him. The next thing he knew was blackness.

When Byakuya came conscious again, he still couldn't see anything. It was complete blackness. He could hear, every now and then, the dripping of water through hollow space. . . most likely, he was in an underground cavern. He shifted, then stopped. There was something coming towards him, through the large space. He tried not to move, but yelped when he was easily lifted off the floor by a large hand. His heart raced. . . it couldn't have been anything other than an oni.

Byakuya struggled, but to little effect. Something grabbed the bottom of his kimono, and then it was ripped off like a sheet of paper. Those large fingers tightened on him as Byakuya struggled more, frantic and unsure. Inexperience had his nerves on edge, and he could not grasp for a way to escape this predicament. His breath caught as something large and wet swept up his body. A tongue, licking the blood off of him. It swept up and down his body as he lay frozen, too shocked and overpowered to do more. The saliva it left in its wake was a disgusting, sticky feeling.

Byakuya cringed as the hand moved him forward. Large lips pressed against his limp cock before drawing it into a cavernous mouth, that tongue coming to swirl around it. His arms reached out to touch the top of the thing's head. . . if he could find an eye, he could blind him. He felt along the bald head, finding only four strange, ridge-like protrusions, two of them curved down into what he could only assume were horns.

Before he could shift and explore lower, the wind was knocked out of him as Byakuya was turned upside down. Each of his legs was being held in a different hand, and he was facing away from the oni. That tongue came out to meet his skin this time, but this time it came to lick between the cleft of his ass. Byakuya sucked in a breath as it came to the hole between his thighs, then cried out as it pushed in.

The tip of the oni's tongue was as large as a man's cock, if not more so. Byakuya gasped and cried out as it was forced inside of him, as the slippery organ squirmed against his inner walls. It hurt, the discomfort overshadowing any small undercurrent of pleasure that might have been present. Byakuya moaned as it forced its way even deeper inside of him, deeper than he thought possible. If the oni kept going, he'd be ripped apart. Byakuya started to struggle again, but it was even harder now that he was speared on the demon's tongue.

Light and heat filled the room. The oni's tongue was removed from Byakuya's body as the thing cried out in pain, and Byakuya could see the flames that were consuming his back. His body jerked as the oni let go with one arm, leaving Byakuya to dangle in the air by one leg. But then the oni gave out an even louder cry, and in a rainfall of blood the arm that was holding onto Byakuya fell onto the floor of the cavern. Byakuya hit the ground with a thud, but was quick to jump up and try to run past the screaming oni. He was halfway past him when the oni turned, reaching a hand into the air, the tips of its fingers twisted and sharp like claws. Byakuya's eyes widened as the hand flew down towards him, but then he was being shoved out of the way. His head hit the floor with a hard bang, and he looked up to see Zaraki sheltering him, a pained grimace on his face.

"Come on, Kid," Zaraki said, "be a little quicker on your feet."

Byakuya didn't need to be told twice. He stood up and tried to run away, but his legs stumbled beneath him. As he almost fell on the floor Zaraki scooped him up, and carried him out as he ran out of the cavern. The oni was too distracted to follow, and soon enough they were out of that infinite darkness and back inside the forest. About half a kilometer from the cave entrance Zaraki set Byakuya down, hands grabbing onto Byakuya's shoulders.

"Are you okay?" he asked, still breathing heavy.

"I'm fine," Byakuya said, but as soon as he did so he was falling to the floor, his legs unable to support him. His ass still ached from the deep penetration, but he struggled to get up.

"Crap, kid." Zaraki took off his blood-soaked haori and draped it around Byakuya's shoulders, then leaned down in front of him. "Come on, grab on. I'll have to carry you."

Byakuya frowned to see four slashes swiping across the back of Zaraki's kimono, revealing long cuts still bubbling with dark red blood. Zaraki was in no position to carry him.

"Just do it," Zaraki said, "the sooner we get back, the sooner the both of us can be treated."

Byakuya couldn't argue with that. He scooted forward, then wrapped his arms and legs around Zaraki's torso. The man stood up, and they began the long walk back to town. Byakuya nestled his face into Zaraki's hair, feeling a little bit ashamed of the fact that he had gotten himself into that situation, hadn't been able to get out of it, and couldn't even walk himself back. But at the same time. . .

"Thank you," he said, hoping that he didn't sound too grateful. "For coming back for me."

"Of course I'd come back for you," Zaraki said. "You're my wakashu."

Byakuya's arms tightened around Zaraki's shoulders. Zaraki may not have been proficient with haiku or calligraphy, but. . . he was a good samurai. Byakuya realized how lucky he was to have him as his nenja.

They made there way back to the village in silence, and Zaraki all but collapsed as soon as they were inside the town, his adrenaline leaving him and his injuries taking over. They were both brought back to the inn, where the local healers separated them into different rooms. Byakuya let himself be washed, treated with ointment, and dressed, and by then he was too tired to go search out Zaraki. As soon as his head hit the futon he was out, fast asleep.

The next morning, as soon as Byakuya awoke he went to see Zaraki. The man was in the room next door, and Byakuya slid open the door and walked in on the tips of his toes. Zaraki was still asleep on his back in the futon, blanket tucked around his waist to reveal bandages wrapped all around his chest.

Byakuya sunk to the floor next to Zaraki, lifted up the blanket, and crawled in next to him. As he laid his head on Zaraki's shoulder he heard the man give a grunt, and then an arm came to wrap around his back.

"What's this?" Zaraki asked, voice half-muffled with sleep. "Are you seducing me properly now?"

Byakuya frowned at the question, but he didn't move away. "If I am, will you consummate our relationship?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you, kid? That has to be done formally anyway, so we can't do it without the help of the local dojo."

Byakuya lifted his head up so that he could glare at Zaraki. "And I assume there is a good explanation for why you withheld this piece of information from me?"

He pressed down on Zaraki's bandages, enough to elicit a grunt of pain from the other man. Before Zaraki could reply, though, the door opened, and both of them watched as Shunsui entered the room, dressed again in his more casual attire.

"Good to see you two so energetic in the morning," Shunsui said with a wink.

"If only," Zaraki muttered, as Byakuya sat up in their futon.

"At any rate," Shunsui said, "I'm glad to see you're both okay after what happened. Apparently we were able to kill seven of their men, so I don't think they'll be attacking that route anymore. Just in case, though, I'd like to ask you to stay for a few more days. Maybe once you're feeling up to it, you can help us with the daily patrols."

"What makes you think I'm not up to it now?" Zaraki asked, grinning as he sat up. "These little paper cuts aren't enough to keep me down."

But as soon as he said it he was falling over again.

"Or not."

"You did have quite a bit of blood loss," Shunsui noted. He turned his attention towards Byakuya. "You wouldn't want to go out on patrol with us, would you?"

Byakuya's eyes lit up as he shot out of the futon. "Of course I'll go."

"That settles it then." Shunsui chuckled as Byakuya strode out of the room without even giving Zaraki a second glance. "Have fun recuperating, Kenpachi."

"Yeah," Zaraki grumbled, "I'm sure it'll be tons of fun."

The next few days passed peacefully enough, and soon Byakuya found himself on the night that was to be the consummation of their union.

The evening started innocently enough, with a walk to the local dojo. It was smaller than the one Byakuya was used to, but familiar enough that it calmed his nerves just a little bit. He had been given an overview of the ceremony, but was not privy to the details. An attendant met him and led him to a heated bath, where he was careful to clean himself sufficiently. Thereafter his hair was brushed to a smooth sheen, and he was led to a room where he was instructed to lay, nude, on the cushioned floor.

As he lay there, Byakuya had the chance to think over what was to happen that night. The formality of the affair set small butterflies aflight in his stomach; if this had been a private affair, he would no doubt be less unsure of himself. The opening of a door startled Byakuya from his reverie, as did the rich smell of vanilla that filled the room. A young boy, one of the dojo's wakashu, if his style of dress was to be considered, entered the room. He held a small wooden bowl in his hands, no doubt the source of that fragrant scent.

Byakuya swallowed and looked up at the ceiling as he bent and spread his legs. _Someone will come to prepare you_ , he had been told, a rather clinical way to describe the intimate procedure. Byakuya closed his eyes as an oiled finger pressed against the hole between his thighs. It lingered, there, for one long moment, pressing hard enough to titillate but not enough to penetrate. It rubbed circles there, applying only gentle pressure until Byakuya grew more and more relaxed. Until all the tension drained out of his muscles. Then, with one small push, the finger moved inward.

Byakuya sucked in a breath as the finger slid easily inside of him. It moved and turned, drawing out and pushing in, and was eventually joined by another. Byakuya heard his breath grow ragged as the two fingers moved inside of him, scissoring and twisting, stretching him in a way that he never knew would feel so pleasurable. It was so easy to relax into that touch, to feel his body mold to accommodate it. When the finger left him, Byakuya couldn't help but feel a bit needy and wanton, and more than a little bit in anticipation of what was to come.

The boy was moving, his hands moving to Byakuya's shoulders as he helped the other boy into a seated position. Emerald green silk robes were drawn from some hiding place and wrapped around Byakuya's naked body. Byakuya rose his arms, swathed in voluminous sleeves, so that the boy could wrap a thin strand of gray fabric around his waist. The strand was tied in a way that would, later, be easily pulled apart.

The boy stood, and gestured for Byakuya to follow. He was led through the corridor, through a courtyard, and finally into a small, dimly lit room that was divided in half by a screen. He couldn't see the other half of the room, only the silhouettes of the three men seated there, only their hands and the knees of their kimonos visible through the bottom of the screen. Byakuya kneeled down on the soft futon that had been laid on the floor, calves tucked neatly underneath his thighs, and the boy left.

Zaraki entered a few moments later. Byakuya looked at him through the corner of his eye, not sure if he was allowed to look directly at Zaraki. And forgot to breath for a second, such was his shock. In contrast to the loosely tied cotton kimonos Zaraki usually favored, he was dressed in neatly tied formal silk, complete with haori and hakama. With those clothes, and with his hair tied into a topknot, Zaraki actually looked. . . like a respectable man.

A cough from the other side of the screen brought Byakuya's attention back to the ceremony. Zaraki sat down next to him, and a small sake cup on a square platter was pushed through the bottom of the screen to sit between them.

"You are both here today to enter the sacred contract of wakashudo," said a voice, probably from the figure in the middle of the trio, "and we are here to bear witness to the event. There is no loftier love than that between an older warrior and a young apprentice, no greater love to which a samurai can aspire. It is important for us to never forget, even to our last moment, the spirit of shudo. If we should forget it, it will not be possible for us to maintain the decencies, gentleness of speech, or refinements of polite behavior.**

"Now, vow your intentions, and drink from your shared cup. Zaraki Kenpachi, until the day your wakashu comes of age, you will not gift your seed to any other man, nor take any other male as a lover."

"I will not," Zaraki replied, a serious tone to his voice that Byakuya had never heard before. Zaraki leaned forward with both hands to hold the cup, and took a long drink from its rim.

"Kuchiki Byakuya, until the day you come of age, you will not receive the seed of any other man, nor take any other male as a lover."

"I will not." Byakuya leaned forward and grasped the cup, bringing it to the lips. As he tasted it he realized it wasn't sake but some kind of honey wine, fragrant with floral hints. It made him heady, made his skin flush. Perhaps, he thought, it was some manner of aphrodisiac.

Two hands reached through the opening to reclaim the cup, and it disappeared behind the screen. "You will now seal your contract as we bear witness. Seal your emotional bond with a physical one."

Byakuya's breath caught in his throat as he realized that it was finally time to consummate their union. He looked up to see Zaraki smirking down at him. There was an awkward moment as Byakuya leaned forward, then leaned back, not sure of what to do. But it was solved when Zaraki reached forward himself, his hands coming to wrap around Byakuya's waist.

Byakuya allowed himself to be pulled into Zaraki's lap. He wrapped his arms around Zaraki's broad shoulders as Zaraki nuzzled his face against Byakuya's neck. Lips pressed against his skin as hands pulled at his kimono, and soon the fabric covering him melted away into a silken puddle on the floor. Zaraki licked a trail from the base of Byakuya's throat to his jawline, then brushed their cheeks together to whisper in his ear.

"Get on your hands and knees," he said, every syllable dripping with lust.

Byakuya shivered at the promise heavy in the words. He turned, hands and knees falling to the silk-covered futon. Hands brushed over his sides, down his thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake. They came back up to rest on the curve of his lower back and pulled him backwards just a bit. Soon he felt hot breath inside the cleft of his ass, teasing, tantalizing.

He arched as lips met his skin, as a wet tongue came out to trace the edge of his hole. The heat and moisture made his skin shiver, the touch made his limp cock twitch. He couldn't help but moan as Zaraki swirled his tongue over his entrance, over and over again, pressing down more and more firmly, until it finally breached that tight right of muscle.

Byakuya moaned as his body leaned back, desperate for more even if he wasn't entirely conscious of it. Zaraki's tongue delved even deeper, stretching his innermost recesses. Byakuya couldn't help but gasp and moan at the feeling of that hot wet, tongue, twisting and moving inside of him. He felt like he was being consumed, Zaraki was eating him so voraciously. The wet noises filled the air around them, filled the space of the small room. After forever, after no time at all, Zaraki drew away, and Byakuya mewled in protest as his hole was once again empty. But then he felt Zaraki come to his knees behind him, heard the rustling of fabric.

Byakuya could imagine what was happening. He could imagine Zaraki undoing the straps of his hakama, imagine the culottes falling to the side. He could imagine Zaraki pull apart the folds of his kimono, revealing a large, veined erection. He was tempted to look back, to replace imagination with reality, but than Zaraki started to touch him again. One of Zaraki's hands came to grab onto his backside while the other came to rest on his shoulder. It pushed him down, so that his head was pressed against the floor, while his lower body remained in the air, and held him there. Byakuya gulped as the hand on his backside pulled his ass apart, open, and something hard and blunt pressed against his hole.

With a grunt, Zaraki pushed himself in. Byakuya made an embarrassing noise of half pleasure and half pain as he was breached, as the thick spear of a man opened him up for the first time. It felt like nothing he had ever felt before. It pulsed inside of him, hot and thick, and Zaraki was sliding in even more.

Byakuya's fingers scrambled to grab onto the sheets even as his eyes fluttered shut. Soon he felt the front of Zaraki's thighs come to rest against the back of his. His master was now completely inside of him, and he had never felt anything so amazing. He used his ass muscles to clench around it, wanted to feel every ridge inside of him, and his movements elicited a strangled grunt from Zaraki.

Zaraki started to fuck him then, pulling out and thrusting back in with shallow, circular movements of his hips. Each rotation left Byakuya just a little bit more breathless. Each one sent immense pleasure radiating out from between his thighs. He realized then that there was no greater pleasure than being filled by a powerful man, and realized why wakashudo was such a sacred tradition.

Soon the room was filled with their noises. The slap of flesh against flesh, of Zaraki's grunts, of Byakuya's mewls and blissful cries. The pleasure built up inside both of them as Zaraki's pace grew, as he thrust into the younger samurai with all the force of his powerful thigh and ass muscles.

Eventually Zaraki's body pitched forward, sending them both to the ground. He continued to fuck Byakuya as they lay in this prone position, his chest against Byakuya's back, his mouth sucking at the flesh at Byakuya's neck. Byakuya could feel his hard cock rub up against silk cushions, and the sensation drove him over the edge. He cried out as he spilled himself onto the sheets, his entire body attempting to curl up with the orgasm. Zaraki continued to thrust into him until, moments later, he also cried out, and Byakuya felt his insides being filled with hot liquid.

They lay there, still, Zaraki's weight a comforting presence on Byakuya's back as both of them tried to remember to breath.

"It is done," said a voice. "The tradition of wakashudo now binds you. Live as samurai, live as lovers, and never forget the ties between you."

A kiss was pressed against the back of his neck, and Byakuya sighed in contentment. He could hear the elders shuffling out, leaving the two to their privacy.

A few days later, Byakuya blinked open his eyes to feel a comforting body at his back and a heavy arm thrown over him. He shoved it off, eliciting a small grunt from its owner, and stood up to get dressed for the day. Zaraki, on the other hand, just rolled onto his back and resumed snoring.

Byakuya frowned but decided to leave it be for today. It's not like there was much they had to do this morning; the town and the Eastern forest had been quiet for the last few days, and today it was finally time for them to go home. He had his kimono halfway on when the door to the room slammed open, revealing an out-of-breath Shunsui.

"Kenpachi. Byakuya. We have a problem."

Zaraki grumbled as Byakuya frowned. He reached for his obi as Zaraki started to get up, that customary grin on his face.

"Sounds like fun," Zaraki said.

A few hours later they found themselves back in the Eastern forest. The scene in front of them was gore and death. A caravan of merchants had tried to come through, but now they were all dead. Their corpses were left in a loose pile on the road, their blood staining red rivers in the ground. Some of them were missing limbs, some were ripped completely in half. It was a loathsome, disgusting sight. Behind them was a giant arm, sliced off cleanly and half decayed, with a note written on it: No one passes through this forest until the man who took my arm is given to me.

"So," Shunsui said, cringing as he looked at the sight, "what do you suppose we do now?"

Zaraki laughed. "Do you even have to ask? What happens now is I go hunt down the oni who did this and kill him."

Shunsui sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that."

"What's this? You worried about me? What can a one-armed, half-melted oni do against a samurai like me?"

"Lots, if he has friends with him."

"His cavern seemed rather empty," Byakuya interjected. "It's reasonable to conclude that he lives alone."

"Don't tell me you're okay with this," Shunsui said, frowning. He sighed again. "Though I don't know why I expected otherwise."

"Let's hurry up and go already," Zaraki said, "I want to leave this town before noon."

The trio made their way back into the forest valley, and soon came to the opening of the oni's cave. Shunsui placed his hand on the jagged rock of the cave entrance as he stared inside, the absolute darkness within disconcerting him.

"Maybe we should just turn around," Shunsui said. "We can have convoys escort travelers back and forth, deal with it then."

"Don't be such a wimp," Zaraki said, swinging his katana over his shoulders. "Besides, I could use a little exercise. You wait here and act as lookout, yell down if anything funny happens."

Shunsui nodded. He wasn't in a rush to go in there, though he did have issues with Zaraki's young apprentice joining him. Though Byakuya didn't seem any less confident than Zaraki; he had lit a lantern they had brought with them and was walking to his master's side.

"What do you say, Byakuya?" Zaraki asked. "You think we can take care of this in an hour?"

"Maybe it would take that long for someone like you," Byakuya said. His nose was lifted up in his typical arrogance, but there was a teasing gleam in his eyes. "With my help it should take half of that at least."

Zaraki laughed, a loud, boisterous sound. "Let's go see what we can do then."

They made heir way into the cave, feeling along the wall as a guide. Zaraki went first, but Byakuya followed just a few steps behind, the light from his lantern swinging to and fro and casting light and shadows through the darkness. It didn't help much, but at least it helped. At one point Zaraki stopped and held him arm out. Byakuya stopped as well. He could hear it now, a deep, rumbling breathing, too heavy and loud to belong to be a human.

They started to walk again, but slower this time, more carefully. they had gone maybe five more meters when it happened. Something knocked against Zaraki's side, sending the other man flying into the far wall. Zaraki was able to catch himself and absorb most of the impact, but it didn't change the fact that the force that sent him into the cavern wall was enough to leave an indent and send chunks of rock falling to the ground.

Byakuya placed the lantern on the ground and got into defensive position now. He could see the oni now, a large, hulking giant with tan skin that almost had a red hue to it. He was bald except for fringes of hair coming out from either side of his face, and there were four ridges on the top of his head, two of which curved down to form the horns of a ram. He held a spiked club with his one hand, and chuckled as he saw Zaraki fly. When he spoke his voice was deep and slow, rumbling like the shifting of the Earth.

"So you came after all." His eyes shifted, taking in Byakuya. "And you bought the boy who was so tasty before. I'll have to savor him once I'm through with you."

"Byakuya," Zaraki said, "now."

Byakuya ran to the right as Zaraki ran to the left, both of them slashing across the oni's body. The oni yelled as blood sprayed out into the air like rain, his body falling backwards. But, to both their surprises, after a moment the oni stood back up again. An exchange of looks was all that was necessary to spur their next attack.

For the next twenty minutes they battled with the oni. Their swords cut flesh and surrounding stone as they attacked, as the oni swung at them with that large club, sometimes missing and sometimes connecting. It was a hard fight, harder than Byakuya had thought it would be. He had no idea that the body of an oni would be so resilient. Towards the end he wasn't just dodging the oni's club, he was dodging the rocks that were falling from the ceiling, hit loose due to their activities. His whole body ached, and he was sure he was bleeding from some cuts and punctures. Though it was nothing he couldn't handle. The oni looked even worse, drenched in red, with deep cuts all over his body. It shouldn't take long before he fell.

Then, drifting through the vacuous cavern, was Shunsui's voice. Something about the cave entrance. It didn't take much intelligence to see what was going to happen; Byakuya looked around at the falling rocks and the crumbling walls. The cavern was caving in.

"Zaraki," he yelled out," we have to go."

Zaraki turned towards him, disappointment clear on his features. "Yeah."

Zaraki thrust forward, cutting upward against the side of the oni's stomach. The oni gave a loud scream and stumbled back, giving them the opening to run away. As they ran more and more rocks came down upon them. And then the oni roared and gave chase.

"If I'm to be buried here, so will you two!"

The oni's footsteps were loud and surprisingly fast. He ran right behind them, a series of loud thuds following him, and as he did the walls shook and protested. As the cavern crumbled even more Byakuya realized what was going on. . . as the oni ran, he was swinging his club against the walls. He was intending to trap them there.

Finally, Byakuya could see the light of the cave entrance. He could see the forest beyond and Shunsui's silhouette. But the cave was crumbling all around them, and he realized that they weren't going to make it. Resignation fell heavy through his entire body even as he kept running. But then he was being lifted into the air, an arm around his waist.

"See you later, Kid," Zaraki said, and then Byakuya felt himself being thrown into the air.

Byakuya flew through the air for awhile before falling, body landing harshly and rolling through tough undergrowth and vines. As soon as he was able to, though, he was standing up and running back towards the cave. He couldn't see inside anymore, but he could see it crumbling, could see the mouth of it closing up.

"Zaraki!"

But then Byakuya felt himself jerked backwards as Shunsui held him back.

"Don't worry," Shunsui said, though his tone of voice belied whatever comfort his words were meant to give, "he'll make it in time."

But Byakuya could hear it, could hear Zaraki's sword as it hit against flesh and rock. And if Zaraki was fighting, he wasn't running. Byakuya could feel his eyes sting as he struggled uselessly in Shunsui's arm. The rocks were falling down too fast, it was going to be too late. He watched it horror as they fell, as they closed up around the entrance. After awhile he couldn't hear Zaraki's sword anymore. He couldn't hear anything. Just the sound of stones as they settled over the earth.

"Zaraki." His voice sounded broken and hoarse, and he couldn't deny the tears that were leaving tracks down his cheeks.

Shunsui let go, but all Byakuya could do was collapse. It was too late. After awhile he struggled to his feet and walked towards the pile of rubble that once was a cave. With his small hands, he started to remove the stones there. Without a word, Shunsui joined him in his task. But it was a hopeless cause. . . there was no way Zaraki had survived, and no way they would ever be able to dig out his dead body. They worked all day, but before nightfall Shunsui forced Byakuya back to the inn.

They sent convoys out every day to look for Zaraki, but everyone had already agreed that it was a useless endeavor. Soon enough they stopped doing even that. Byakuya stayed in the town for weeks. But the longer he waited, the more it became clear.

Zaraki was gone.

 _  
* This sentence was originally (as far as we know) said by Simonedes in an ancient Greek drinking song._

 _** These last two sentences are quoted, with some small changes, from the anonymous author who wrote Inu Tsurezure._


	2. The Tempting of Abarai Renji

There were footsteps sounding over the wooden floor, and they were heading right toward him. They echoed in the large main hall, their owner unable to hide the noise of his large frame. The boys sleeping next to Byakuya pretended not to notice, but Byakuya knew that they were now wide awake.

Byakuya sensed more than saw the man stop and crouch down next to his futon. It was the night of a new moon, and not much light found its way into the dojo walls. Still, Byakuya sensed him there and drew back his sheets in response. A heavy body settled between his spread legs. Byakuya felt a large chest settle on top of his, felt hot breath on his neck. Hands lifted the sides of his yukata, revealing his creamy thighs and uncovered bottom. A hard, stiff cock pressed against his hole as he wrapped his arms and legs around the body above him. He was ready, of course. . . he was prepared every night, after his bath, just in case his master desired the pleasure of his body. It was his duty as wakashu, and Byakuya was obligated by family honor and societal custom to see it through.

Byakuya bit his tongue as he was breached and speared, so that his moan came out instead as a muffled noise. The man started to rut into him, his guttural noises and the sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the room. Byakuya could hear the shifting of futons nearby, could see the surreptitious movements of hands underneath sheets as some of the other boys watched their union. The man didn't last long, and soon spilled himself into Byakuya's waiting body.

The man pulled his cock from Byakuya's hole and crept down his body. Byakuya could see the man's head settle between his thighs, and then could feel his cock being enveloped by wet heat. He bit his lip from making noise, but couldn't help but let a moan escape every now and then. As the man sucked on him Byakuya's climax built, until his body trembled and he groaned, shooting his seed down the man's throat.

The man swallowed all of him before crawling back up and pressing a kiss against Byakuya's lips. Byakuya could vaguely make out his features now. A long, somewhat plump face, with large, wet lips. The top of his head was shaved in the traditional way, and the rest of his hair was pulled up into a topknot.

"Your nectar tastes as sweet as ever, Byakuya," Marechiyo Omaeda said, before pressing another kiss against Byakuya's lips. And, with that, he stood up and went away.

At first Byakuya wasn't sure why a man like Omaeda, with his penchant for luxury, preferred to lay with him in the spartan environment of the communal hall. But then he realized that Omaeda was the type of man who preferred to have an audience. He enjoyed showing Byakuya off, as was his right.

"It is an honor," Omaeda had said, the day they were introduced, "to have such a lovely apprentice."

Omaeda had been chosen by the Kuchiki elders in response to Byakuya's initial complaints about Zaraki. Zaraki was uncouth and low-class, and Omaeda was neither of those things. And Byakuya, in his grief over Zaraki's death, had hardly cared who his next nenja would be.

He closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

The next morning Byakuya woke and took part in the usual morning routine, up until he was called to Omaeda's quarters for lunch. He made his way to the large room, opening the door to find it in an uncharacteristic state of untidiness. Chests were lined up against the wall, filled with all manner of belongings. Though Byakuya supposed it was to be expected. This afternoon they would be moving into Omaeda's new manor; its construction had been completed almost a year ago, but it was only now that the servants had managed to clean and furnish it to Omaeda's specifications.

"Byakuya," Omaeda said, from the table in his dining nook, "come here."

Not surprisingly, Omaeda was entertaining. There were two men seated there, and Byakuya believed they were merchants, though he couldn't be too sure. He walked towards the table, stopping when Omaeda placed a hand on his lower back.

"This is my wakashu Byakuya."

One of the men made a small noise of envy. "Really, I should have become a samurai."

"He certainly is a sight," said the other. "There's nothing lovelier than a boy in his summer yukata."

Introduction and praise done, Byakuya was free to take his seat and began his lunch. Omaeda always had the rarest of treats when he entertained. Spices from Africa, cakes from England. . . if it passed through their port and was expensive, Omaeda would buy it. Byakuya helped himself to some curry, prepared at great cost by a passing Indian chef.

As Byakuya ate, the conversation around him dimmed into the background, and he watched the scene outside instead. The screen walls facing the courtyard had been thrown open, all the better to enjoy the summer before it grew too stifling. Byakuya watched with envy as some boys practiced sparring with one another. There was a small war going on, a dispute involving the Northern border. Every week Byakuya watched as some left for battle and others came back, all dressed in magnificent armor. Omaeda, however, was more than content to stay away from battle, to teach at the dojo and take care of any local disputes.

If Zaraki had lived, Byakuya thought, how many battles would they have fought together? How many enemies would they have killed? He could spend hours listening to the stories of samurai who came back, and when he sharpened his katana it seemed to vibrate with anger that it was not on the battlefield.

"Byakuya," Omaeda said, startling Byakuya from his reverie, "is there anything on the table that you particularly enjoyed? Let me know, and I will be sure to order more for you."

"No," Byakuya replied, "thank you."

He had barely even touched his curry. He excused himself and left to pack for the afternoon move, though he had few possessions with him at the dojo.

An hour later Byakuya found himself in a horse drawn carriage, heading to his new home. He watched as the dojo disappeared from view, watched as flat land transitioned to rolling hills. Soon the carriage pulled up to a large, intimidating gate of deeply stained wood and metal. The door had taken five metal smiths to craft, with magnificent decorations all along the front of it. Such an impressive gate had required the permission of the daimyo to be built, and was third only to the gates of the Kuchiki and Shihoin houses.

Two servants opened the gate wide enough for the carriage to pass through, and Byakuya was treated to the sight of the Marechiyo estate for the first time. It was impressive; not as large as the Kuchiki estate, but just as well-kept. The buildings were obviously tended to on a regular basis, and the gardens were perfectly manicured. There were flora there that Byakuya had never seen before, an exotic contrast to the traditional gardens he was familiar with.

The carriage rode up to a large structure, wooden verandas wrapping around it and a thatched roof overhead, and Byakuya deduced that this was the main house. His guess was proven correct when the carriage stopped and Omaeda gestured for them to go out. The walked in through the front door, and Byakuya took in the mahogany wood floors, the Persian rugs, the decorations both Japanese and foreign the hung on the walls and were displayed on columns. It was, Byakuya thought, a little ostentatious. His thoughts were interrupted, however, when a servant boy with his hair tied in a bright red ribbon ran inside the room and crashed into Omaeda.

"Oh! Marechiyo-san, I'm so sorry!"

"It's fine, Rikichi," Omaeda said, pulling Rikichi to his feet. He was certainly more lenient with his servants than the Kuchikis were with theirs. "What do you have there, boy?"

The question prompted Byakuya to notice that Rikichi held a small brown bag close to his chest, safely tucked into both arms.

"Oh," Rikichi said, smiling up at them, "Renji-san gave me some cherries. The sisters grew and picked them themselves."

"By Renji-san, do you mean Father Abarai? Hmm. . . " Omaeda's eye took on a contemplative tone as he smiled. "Priests lead a rather austere life, do they not? We shall be sure to invite him over one day; he will no doubt enjoy a night of luxury for once in his life."

Rikichi nodded enthusiastically in response.

"Why don't you show Byakuya to his new room? You can take the cherries to the kitchen later."

Rikichi nodded again and gestured to Byakuya. "This way, Kuchiki-san."

Byakuya followed Rikichi as the younger boy blathered on about something or the other. Something about how nice his Father Abarai was, and how foreigners weren't as bad as everyone seemed to think. Byakuya was scarcely listening; instead he was taking in his surroundings, taking in the place that would be his home until he came of age. He wondered, briefly, where the rest of Omaeda's family were. Omaeda's parents were long dead, but it seemed as though there was no one else to live with him here on the estate. . . and as Omaeda was a notorious onna-girai, his lineage would no doubt stop with him.

They soon came to a moderately sized room with tatami floors and a western-style bed. The wall had been opened out, and past the veranda Byakuya could see a more isolated part of the gardens. Rikichi was staring expectantly at him, and Byakuya realized the boy was waiting for an answer.

"Excuse me?" he said.

"I said, if there's nothing you need, will it be okay for me to go? I want to get back to the church."

Byakuya raised an eyebrow at that. "Did you not just come from the church?"

"Yeah, but, I promised I'd go back to help with some sweeping."

While Byakuya didn't exactly approve of a servant doing chores at someone else's home instead of his master's, this estate didn't belong to him. What the servants did was Omaeda's business, not his.

"It's no business of mine," Byakuya said.

"Great!" Rikichi said, face lighting up. "Bye, then!"

As Rikichi ran off, Byakuya took the time to look over his new room. As he walked past his bed his hand came down to brush against the sheets. The finest silk, of course, no doubt imported from China. He found himself in front of a lacquered dresser, and opened it to find numerous men's kimonos of the finest quality. But aside from that, and a low table that sat on his floor, there was nothing much to this room. Byakuya set his things down and went to explore the rest of the grounds.

As he stepped outside the room, Byakuya's eyes landed on a tall tree directly next to the wall, branches sturdy and staggered. It was an invitation if he ever saw one, and he made quick work of climbing to the top. From there it was only a quick jump onto the roof. His feet met tightly packed reed, and he looked over what he could see of the estate.

Byyakuya walked over the roof, taking everything in. The main building was shaped like a katagana ko, and was only a small part of the estate. Most of it was comprised of gardens, but from here Byakuya could also make out the armory and the rice silo. He could also see portions of the gate, the red clay tile roof of it wrapping around the entire property.

Byakuya walked more towards the west, surprised when he was able to see the plain white steeple of the small church. He hadn't known that Omaeda's estate was built so close to the foreign quarter of the city, and next to the object of Rikichi's affections no less. Speak of the devil, Byakuya could see a small figure of a person come into the church yard, and he assumed that it was Rikichi. Then Byakuya saw him, the man who must be the priest. But one detail of his person imprinted itself immediately in Byakuya's mind: the man had crimson red hair, the color of newly spilt blood. It was tied in a low ponytail and hung smooth down his back. It was beautiful, Byakuya thought. But then the priest disappeared inside the church, and that lovely deep red was obfuscated from his view.

Frowning, Byakuya made his way down the roof and back inside. He had never seen hair of that color, not even among the foreigners at port. It seemed a hair color more befitting of a demon, not a man of faith. But, Byakuya was sure, he would have the chance to see that shade of red again in the future.

* * *

A household's gate, Rikichi explained, was a symbol of status. Which led Renji to believe that the Marechiyo household was of rather impressive status indeed. The gate was opened,and the carriage rode into the house as Rikicihi bubbled on about the household's history and the recent renovation done on the estate. The boy was sweet, and Renji had high hopes for his conversion, but sometimes he spoke so quickly and so excitedly that Renji was scarcely able to make out the Japanese words.

Renji had insisted, of course, that the carriage would not be necessary. The estate was within walking distance of the church, Rikichi had proven that well enough with his countless visits. But Rikichi had been adamant that to refuse would be an insult to Omaeda, who was, apparently a very. . . generous man.

Renji watched the gardens roll by with wonder. Since he had come to Japan he had taken a particular interest in Japanese gardens. Their way of landscaping was so different from the geometric, rigidly structured gardens with with Renji was familiar. They had a structure of their own, of course, but one that was much more subtle, more natural. Renji didn't have too long to admire the grounds, though, because soon the carriage arrived at the main house and he was escorted out.

"This way," Rikichi said, pulling on Renji's long black sleeve.

Renji was led to an ornate room, the wooden walls covered with gilded designs. There was a low table in the middle, and the man who must have been Marechiyo Omaeda was seated behind it. He was dressed in one of the formal kimonos Renji had grown accustomed to seeing, and had a small smile on his face.

"Father Abarai," he said. "Thank you for joining us today. Please, take a seat."

Renji bowed low, as he had been taught was customary in Japanese culture, and took a seat.

"Thank you for having me," Renji replied. "I brought a gift for you."

Renji slid a thick, leather-bound book across the table. He had taken great care in obtaining it. once he did some research as to his host. It was the most luxurious Japanese-language bible that the church could procure, the words hand-written by a moderately-known calligrapher, the page edges gilded in faux-gold.

"How lovely," Omaeda said. His fingers traced over the gold characters embossed on the cover before pushing the book aside. "It shall look quite fitting on display in our library."

Renji nodded, a little insulted by the fact that Omaeda was basically admitting that he would never read the book. Still, Renji had no wish to belabor a point. It seemed as though there was a growing anti-Catholicism sentiment spreading throughout the country, despite, or maybe because of, the fact that the daimyo in Kyushu was now Christian. Already it seemed as though the shogun was restricting once open trade, more often than not to the disadvantage of Christian merchants. The fact being, the church needed as many high-ranking allies as it could get, and Omaeda certainly seemed high-ranking enough.

Besides, Renji had already committed one faux-pas since arriving on Oriental shores. He had been invited to the local daimyo's castle to speak of his religion, and had given an impassioned sermon that he thought would have converted any red-blooded man. The men in attendance seemed amused enough by his speech, until he came to speak of the commandments and various sins. He had just compared sodomy to an act more unclean than pigs when a silence spread over the room.* The daimyo had given a loud laugh, but his advisors were livid. For a moment Renji thought he might be executed, but he survived when they decided to simply remove him from the premises.

And so it was that he discovered that sodomy was not only practiced in Japan, it was held sacred. It had shocked Renji, but he did not believe the cause to be hopeless. He became a priest, after all, so that God's strength could help him to resist the very same urges. He saw no reason that God wouldn't help the men of this country as well.

"I must admit," Omaeda said, bringing Renji back from his thoughts, "that your Japanese is very good."

Renji smiled as politely as he could and nodded. "There was actually Japanese nun in the small town where I grew up, believe it or not. She took me in, gave me my name, and taught me the language."

"And where are you from? England?"

"Connaught," Renji replied. "A land just to the east of there."

"And how does Japan compare?" Omaeda asked.

"It's. . . different," Renji replied. "And not just the people, but the houses, the plants, the animals. Just yesterday, I thought I saw a silver fox dart out of your property."

Omaeda laughed at that, though Renji didn't know what was so funny.

"If you saw a silver fox," Omadea said, "you must have been lucky enough to see a kitsune. A fox spirit. I advise that you be careful; they are shape shifters and tricksters, and it's hard to tell if one is there to grant you fortune or bring you doom. Have you heard the story of how they came to live on this land?"

Renji shook his head no. He had heard some stories of Japanese demons and spirits, but not all, and had yet to meet one himself.

"It was, I believe, the great- great- grandfather of the current daimyo who first came to settle on these lands. A man by the name of Kurosaki Isamu. He was a ronin; a samurai without a master, though through no fault of his own. He was walking through these lands when, drifting along the shore of a small lake, he saw a light. One large white flame, flickering to and fro, suspended in a transparent globe. He plucked it out of the water, and it seemed to float in his palm.

"He was enraptured by this light. He was still holding onto it when a beautiful young women appeared before him. Initially she was colored just like any of us, with black hair and white skin, but she transformed right in front of him. Her hair turned to spun silver, and her eyes were like slits on her pale face. She begged for him to give her the orb back, saying that while it held no value to him, for her it would be a terrible loss. He was completely prepared to give it back, of course, but before he could do so she had offered him wealth and fortune. Well, he gave her back the orb, and she transformed again, this time into a silver fox. She was a kitsune, and the orb was, of course, her hoshi no tama: a part of the kitsune's soul. If separated for too long from its hoshi no tama, a kitsune will surely die.

"As the fox left, she told Isamu to settle on these lands. He did so, and soon saw his wealth grow, until he was lord, with samurai at his command. The land has only grown to this day, and to this day, the kitsune are free to travel over it as they please."**

Renji smiled at the story. He did find it quant, although he was not sure if he believed it. Though there was no reason why he should not. . . the Bible, after all, was filled with equally fantastic stories. A female servant appeared, then, holding a porcelain tea pot of white and pink filigree.

"Please have some tea," Omaeda said, as the woman poured Renji a cup. "These tea leaves can only be harvested from one mountain in Japan. I'm sure that nothing in England. . . or Connaught. . . can compare."

Renji frowned. Despite the fact that divinity school had instilled at least some bit of refinement in him, he still was not fond of the taste of tea. Even with milk and sugar. Still, he raised the cup to his lips, and took a long sip of the bitter brew.

"It's delicious," he said, not wanting to offend his host.

Omaeda's chest seemed to puff up like a peacock's tail. "Of course. You'll find that I have only the best in my manor. I hate to cut our conversations short, but you must know that I am a busy man. Please feel free to peruse my gardens and manor at your leisure; I look forward to resuming our discussion over dinner."

What discussion, Renji thought. He blinked in confusion as Omaeda stood up and left the room, but apparently the man was completely serious. Soon Renji found himself quite alone in the tea room. He wondered if Rikichi was going to come back, but that didn't seem to be the case. Well. . . the screen doors that formed the side wall were open, and Renji couldn't help but notice that the gardens beyond were absolutely beautiful. He supposed that a stroll through the gardens sounded inviting enough.

Renji loosened his collar just a little bit as he exited the room. He wished that priests' robes were not so stifling, but there was little he could do about the traditional garments. He walked past perfectly-manicured lawns, past vibrant green trees and blooming summer flowers. There was a large pond in the distance, and he walked towards it. He was walking by a weeping birch, separated from him by a stone fence, when his cross broke off its chain and fell into a rather large crack in the fence. He bent down to retrieve it, but the sight that awaited him made his knees go weak and sent him stumbling to the ground.

From between the crack in the fence, Renji could see underneath the weeping beech. There, laying on the ground, his head resting upon the thick, knotted trunk, was a Japanese youth. He was dressed in a blue and white yukata with short sleeves, cut so it fell no longer than his mid-thigh, revealing pale, slender legs. Black hair that looked as smooth as silk was tied back in a loose loop, though some shorter strands still managed to hang down to brush against the soft skin his face. The curtain of leaves behind him formed the perfect backdrop to his beauty, casting a pattern of light and shadow over his creamy skin.

Renji was frozen. He felt his heart race and his palms sweat. Not just because of the boy's good looks, which was undeniable, but because of what the boy was about to do. . . one hand was drifting downward, past his abdomen, into the space between his legs.

He shouldn't look. He shouldn't watch. Renji knew all this, and yet he couldn't tear his eyes away. He watched as thick eyelashes fluttered down over heated gray eyes, as a gentle sigh left those slightly parted lips. He watched as that elegant hand disappeared into the folds of the boy's robes, as it disappeared into his fundoshi. Renji couldn't see past the layers of fabric, but as the boy's hand moved back and forth, Renji's mind was more than happy to imagine.

And the noises. The ridiculously seductive noises that came from the boy's throat as he fondled himself. . . each one sent a shock right to Renji's groin. He could feel himself grow hard underneath the heavy fabric of his robe, even as he told himself that this was wrong. But the boy's hand was speeding up, and then. . . and then, the folds of his yukata pulled away just so, and Renji could see just the tip of a slender, pink cock as strings of white cream shot forth from it. The sight wrenched a cry from Renji's lips as he felt his own cock jerked in response. And without even having been touched, he found himself soiling the fabric of his vestments.

Gray eyes snapped up towards him, and Renji scrambled backwards. His head hit the wall as he backed into it, desperate to catch his breath. He grasped the fabric over his heart as he tried to say a Hail Mary in his mind, but it was filled with thoughts of what he had just witnessed. His eyes widened, however, when part of the youth's head appeared from between that large crack. Gray eyes, just a moment ago filled with so much fire, now regarded him cooly. A hand reached out. . . _that_ hand, Renji thought. Hanging from its fingers was the polished wood of Renji's cross.

"I believe this belongs to you," the youth said.

Renji could not have been more ashamed of himself, could not have felt more guilt weighing in his heart. His eyes focused on the floor as he made a grab from his cross, not able to even look at the boy.

"Yes," he said, as he stood up and turned to leave. "Thank you very much."

He walked away as fast as his feet would carry him. He wasn't even aware of where he was going, he just knew that he had to get away from that boy. Eventually he was stopped right in his tracks when he collided into another body. The crash sent him backwards, but he grabbed onto slim shoulders to steady the both of them and keep them from falling.

"Renji-san?"

Renji looked down to see Rikichi's beaming face stare up at him, and gave a sigh of relief. Seeing a familiar face managed to calm him down, if only by a small amount.

"Renji-san, I've been looking for you. I'm supposed to take you to the dining hall."

"Well," Renji said, "I'm more than happy to let you."

He pat Rikichi on the head, not noticing when his physical touch brought a blush to Rikichi's cheeks.

The duo made their way back to the main residence, and soon Rikichi was opening a door for him. Renji could hear low conversation from within, could see the several men who were already seated and deep in discussion. Renji stepped through after it became clear that Rikichi was not, and found himself staring at a long, low table, set out with a feast. Dishes of every size and color covered it, some sitting on delicate place mats, some elevated on golden display stands. There were some items that Renji recognized, some he did not, but all of them brought water to his mouth.

"Father Abarai," Omaeda called, from his perch at the head of the table, "how nice of you to join us."

Seated next to him, Renji noticed with a flush, was the boy from earlier. Renji avoided looking directly at him, too scared of how his body might respond.

"Let me introduce you to everyone here. This is my apprentice, Byakuya, and seated next to him is. . ."

Byakuya. So that was his name. As Omaeda introduced him to the other men in attendance, Renji rolled the syllables out in his head, over and over. It really was, he thought with some embarrassment, a lovely name.

Now that he was here, dinner began. The other diners, perhaps encouraged by his presence, turned their conversation towards that of the "Christian problem" that was plaguing Japan. Renji, of course, did his best to convince them that there was no such problem, and that the country would only benefit from a Catholic influx of ideas. And all throughout Renji avoided looking Byakuya's way, lest his heart start to race and his tongue stop mid-sentence.

Every so often, Renji swore that he felt the intense gaze of gray eyes land on him. But there was no way for him to confirm, and eventually he dismissed the feelings as the heated imaginings of a distracted priest.

* * *

The space around Byakuya was filled with steam. The source was a bowl of coals near the center of the room, over which water was periodically poured. He sat on a wooden stool as Rikichi, behind him, scrubbed his back, using soft wool cloth and freshly heated water. It was a wonderful feeling to be attended to in this way; he had been bathing in cold well water for so long that he had forgotten how much he enjoyed this treatment.

"Is the water warm enough?" Rikichi asked, his voice echoing slightly in the humid room.

"Yes," Byakuya said, enjoying the feel of hot water running down his back. "It is fine."

Having Rikichi near him made Byakuya think about Renji. Byakuya had been amused when he had caught Renji watching him pleasure himself, and even more amused when Renji had spent all of that dinner trying not to look at him. Apparently, foreigners were a more modest sort of people. He had watched as Renji had tried, with great passion, to convince those in attendance that Catholicism was a faith worth converting to. It was a passion, Byakuya felt, that was misdirected. If Renji had been born a Japanese man, that fiery devotion to Renji's Christian God would have been channeled into more worthwhile things. . . such as the sword.

"Rikichi," Byakuya said, as the other boy lifted his arm to wash, "were you at the church again today?"

Rikichi smiled and nodded, a motion hard to see through the thick steam, despite their proximity to each other.

"What exactly do you do there?" Byakuya asked.

"Oh, well, if Renji-san's busy than I'll help the sisters with whatever they need helping with. But when Renji-san's there he'll tell me stories from the bible or teach me English, or sometimes he'll just listen to me talk about stuff."

"Does Father Abarai know how to fight?"

"Oh, no." Rikichi laughed at the thought. "Priests aren't samurai. They don't need to know how to fight to spread the word of God."

Byakuya frowned in disappointment. At times during dinner, Renji's eyes would burn with a fiery spirit as he espoused his God. It was all too easy to imagine those eyes burning on the battlefield, Renji's red hair blowing all around him as he cut down his enemies.

"Oh, but," Rikichi continued, his tone of voice becoming softer, "I think Renji would make a great samurai. He's really strong, you know. I've watched him help unload ships at the dock, and he can lift more than a lot of those merchant crews. And he's honorable, and dedicated. He's amazing."

"I see." Byakuya didn't ask any more as Rikichi continued to bath him, although his thoughts remained with the red-haired priest.

After Rikichi washed him, Byakuya spent some time just soaking in the lavender-scented baths. He knew that Omaeda would not be calling for him tonight; Omaeda was at the estate of the daimyo, along with other advisors and high-ranking samurai. They would be discussing battle plans late into the night; Byakuya wished he could be there as well, but wakashu were generally not invited to such meetings.

After the baths, Byakuya dressed in a night-time yukata of supple white cotton, leaving his hair down. He was in the mood for one of his nocturnal walks, though this time it wasn't just the gardens of the Marechiyo estate that held his interest. He walked towards the West wall. Of, more specifically, the portion of the West wall that separated the estate from the church.

It took him almost no time to scale the side of the wall, and soon he was standing on the roof of it. He had to admit that he was curious about the handsome priest, though he wasn't sure what he was going to do about the newfound curiosity. He sat down on the clay tiles as he looked over the steeple, made of a bright white stucco that the merchants had brought over with them. One of the rooms was still lit with several candles, and Byakuya could see two nuns doing their evening chores.

After awhile the back door opened. The first thing that passed through it was a small lantern, held out by a black clothed-arm. The black cassock of the priesthood followed, then Renji's handsome features and bright red hair appeared. Renji closed the door behind him and stepped outside, the light from his lantern casting itself over the grass and tombstones of their backyard cemetery.

Byakuya jumped off the gate and onto the church lands. The noise startled Renji, whose head shot to the side as his lantern shone on Byakuya. Renji's eyes widened momentarily before looking away, shifting back and forth like a cornered animal unsure of what to do.

"Umm. . . Byakuya. . . good evening."

"Good evening, Father," Byakuya replied. "It's rather late for you to be out, is it not?"

"Umm. . . well. . . I take a walk through the foreign quarter every night, before bed. It gives my constituents the chance to talk with me, if they so need."

And all this time Renji still hadn't looked at him.

"In that case," Byakuya said, walking up to Renji's side, "you won't mind if I join you. I also enjoy walking at night, and I don't believe that I've ever seen this district of the city."

Byakuya could hear an audible gulp from Renji's direction, but the other man had no good reason to deny Byakuya's request.

"If you must," Renji finally said, turning to lead the way.

Renji started to walk down the path in the middle of the cemetery, then through the small woods between the church and the street behind it. Byakuya stayed at his side, looking up every now and then. Renji's eyebrows were knitted together, his lips pressed taut. His gaze was focused directly at the ground before his feet, never wavering.

"Am I disturbing you?" Byakuya asked, because it was obvious that he was.

"No," Renji said, much too quickly, "of course not."

"Is it because of what you witnessed by the weeping tree?"

The question brought a furious blush to Renji's face, but was met with a long period of silence. When he did speak his words seemed very measured, very carefully selected.

"In the eyes of God," Renji said, "certain. . . indulgences of the flesh are not considered acceptable behavior."

Byakuya frowned at the response, disappointed. It was a tepid reply, not one that he had expected from the man. What happened, Byakuya thought, to those passionate convictions Renji had displayed over the dinner table?

"And what does your God have to say about those who are happy to be audience to such indulgences of the flesh?"

The blush on Renji's cheeks only deepened. "I've already done penance for my acts that day. I would suggest that you find your way to the Catholic faith and do the same."

Byakuya lifted his chin up in disapproval. "You speak as if you are so sure that what I did deserves penance. What right do you have to decide this, how can you be so sure that your standards are what is correct?"

". . . That's what it means to have faith," Renji replied.

Byakuya scoffed at that. "How arrogant to assume your views are what is right, and then rationalize it with such a lofty word as faith. From my perspective your religion is unnatural and arbitrary. Commit a sin, apologize, and all is forgiven. How is this not carte blanche for a person to do whatever he wishes?"

"That's not how it is," Renji said, his voice rising just a little bit. "It's true that the church will hear sins and assign penance, but this is only so the sinner can show he has genuinely repented. It's up to God to decide if he is forgiven or not."

"And why does your God worry over us so?" Byakuya asked, glad that Renji was no longer giving such calculated responses. Before, Renji had seemed almost afraid of him. Now, at least, he was rising to Byakuya's challenges. "Why does he care about such minutiae of our everyday life?"

"Because we are His cherished creation, created in His image. He holds great love for each and every one of us."

"Then why does he restrict us so? To give us urges and then force us to suppress them, God seems a cruel ruler indeed. Are you sure your God is not a demon in disguise?"

"Enough!" Renji shouted, eyes blazing.

Both of Renji's arms came up around Byakuya's sides, and Byakuya was surprised to find his back pinned to a tree. Still, Byakuya couldn't help but stir somewhat at the heated expression in Renji's eyes. This, Byakuya thought, was a much more fitting expression on the man.

"It is because of the Catholic church that I am alive today," Renji said. "I will not allow you to heap insult upon insult upon the church and upon God."

Byakuya leaned forward, his gray eyes just inches from Renji's brown ones.

"You are like a bow stretched too tight," Byakuya said. "If you're not released, you might just break."

He easily knocked one of Renji's arms to the side, and stepped around him.

"There is a passion inside of you," Byakuya continued, "and you are repressing it for the sake of your religion. There is not much that is natural about that."

"Religion is my passion."

Byakuya turned, surprised that Renji's answer had come so readily. The priest was staring at him, eyes smoldering in a way that sent shivers through Byakuya's body.

"You say it's not natural, but I don't see that your way of life is any more so. I've been educated on your wakashudo. Is it really so natural for a boy like you to lay beneath that plump, ostentatious man? To me, it seems an excuse for the old to partake of the young at their leisure."

Byakuya bristled at the insult to the sacred tradition.

"You don't sound as though you are preaching against it," he countered. "You sound as though you are jealous."

Renji paled at the words, all but confirming them. Before he could respond, though, some one's voice was calling. The words were spoken in English, but Byakuya could hear Renji's name spoken. No doubt one of his constituents, catching sight of Renji's lantern from the street. Byakuya had enough, anyway. He turned and walked home, leaving Renji to shepherd his flock as he saw fit.

When he got back Byakuya collapsed on his bed, enjoying the way his body sunk into the soft cushioned mattress. He felt wound tight from his encounter with Renji. He hadn't known what to expect when he had decided to visit the man, but he hadn't expected a argument and Renji's guarded jealousy. Still, the way that Renji had looked at him during the more heated parts of their discussion, the way his eyes had _burned_. It sent a shiver through Byakuya's body just to remember.

Byakuya closed his eyes as he imagined the heat of Renji's gaze, the defiant tilt to his chin. He hadn't been wrong, before, to imagine Renji on the battlefield. If Renji had been born a Japanese man, he would have been a samurai. Byakuya imagined long hair the color of blood as he reached down, his fingers pulling apart the folds of his fundoshi. The strip of fabric was pulled away to flutter onto the floor, giving Byakuya unfettered access to his nether regions.

He was already half-hard as he imagined Renji in his mind. He ran his fingers back and forth over the shaft of his cock, teasing. His fingertips moved over velvet soft skin, the touch sending small shivers through his groin. It wasn't enough pressure. His body wanted more, but he wouldn't give it. At least not yet. His touch moved downward, and he cupped his testicles with the palm of his hand. He rolled them together for a moment, before moving down further still.

Byakuya's middle finger brushed over his taint before finding its way to a small, familiar hole. He pressed against it with the pad of his fingertip, breath catching as his body opened easily. Without any more preamble, he pushed it in. Byakuya moaned as he fingered himself, pushing the digit in and out of his body. But it wasn't enough. As he pulled out his middle finger, he twisted it together with his index, then shoved them both in together.

His back arched as his other hand twisted in the sheets. It felt so good. It would feel even better, he thought, if it was Renji's fingers. If it was Renji fingering him like this. He knew with certainty that the man would enjoy the delights that Byakuya's body could give him, would enjoy the soft heat between Byakuya's thighs. He imagined Renji between his legs, pistoning in and out of him, his passion overflowing inside of him. . .

But, no, it still wasn't enough. With a gasp, Byakuya withdrew his fingers. His body twisted, so that he was on his stomach, hard cock pressed almost painfully against the bed. With one hand he reached for the bottle of oil kept on top of his nightstand. With the other he reached for his wakizashi, stowed underneath his pillow. He poured the oil onto the hilt of his wakizashi, generously coating it, before dropping the glass bottle and getting up on his hands and knees.

Byakuya took a deep breath as, hand on the scabbard, he positioned the end of his sword's hilt at his entrance. When the cold oil touched his skin it caused his hole to clench in reflex, but it opened up again quickly enough. Bracing himself, Byakuya pressed the hilt all the way inside of himself.

Byakuya cried out as he was breached and completely filled in one fast movement. His hole ached with a dull pain, but that did nothing to mitigate the pleasure that was spreading through him. He clenched his muscles around the intruding object, enjoying the way it spread him open. With a little imagination, it was possible for him to think. . . this was what Renji would feel like, moving inside of him.

He pulled the hilt out a few inches, then slammed it back in again. The movement wrenched a moan from his lips and set the nerve endings in his hole on fire. It was incredible, fucking himself like this with his own sword, over and over again. He couldn't help but moan and cry out as he moved it inside of him, as that cloth-covered steel repeatedly violated his hole. Eventually he felt his balls tighten, and reached down with his other hand to grip onto his cock. He only had to pull once on it before he came, calling Renji's name as he spilled himself onto the sheets.

Byakuya fell forward as his knees gave out, laying on his stomach with the sword still inside of him. He was too tired to pull it out, and there was some kind of satisfaction in its presence remaining there. Eventually, he fell asleep with it still inside of him, content and full.

* * *

Renji knelt on the hard stone floor beside his bed, hands clasped in prayer, rosary twisting in and out of his fingers. _Please, God_ , he said, the words a whisper on his lips, _give me the strength of will I need to overcome temptations of the flesh_. The moonlight filtered in through the small window, highlighting the bible that lay in front of him. A reminder and a sign, Renji thought, as he continued in his prayer. And yet even as he spoke the words, images of Byakuya arose in his mind.

Byakuya, whose mere presence terrified him. _You sound as though you are jealous_ , the boy had said, so sure of his words. And Renji hadn't been able to say anything back, because. . . wasn't it the truth? Since the moment Renji had seen the boy, he had been ensnared, and now he doubted his ability to persevere in the face of such temptation. He knew his weakness well enough to see Byakuya's strength. Whatever game the boy wanted to play with him, Renji had no doubt that he would lose.

And Renji wondered what kind of game that would be. Byakuya had appeared out of darkness of the night, dressed in the white robes of an angel. The cream of his skin had almost glowed under Renji's lantern light, and his black hair blew in the breeze like spun silk. Renji's breath had caught at the sight, and he froze before he could turn away, unsure of what to do. And Byakuya had seemed to taunt him, to question his faith, until he had become irritated and lashed back. But it seemed his response had little to no effect on Byakuya. And, just like that, Byakuya had disappeared back into the darkness.

Renji breathed in deeply as he finished his prayer. The calm he usually felt after communing with God was absent; only tension clung to his body tonight. He placed his rosary and bible on the small, wooden table that sat by his bed, and climbed in over his harsh sheets. He stared at the cracks in the ceiling until he was tired, and then he fell asleep.

A week passed before he saw Byakuya in person again. Although he saw him well enough outside of that. . . he saw him in his dreams, in his thoughts if he allowed them to wonder. He saw the proud tilt to that chin, the hard gaze of those eyes. Never before had another person so consumed Renji's thoughts.

Renji was lighting candles in the church when Byakuya appeared. One for the parents he never knew, and one for the nun who had taken him in. He looked up as he heard the wooden door push open, and quickly looked down again. He did not know if he was thankful or anxious that the sisters were away on a shopping trip and the church was otherwise empty.

"Good afternoon," he said, because he had to say something to fill the empty space between them.

"What tradition is this?" Byakuya asked, as he made his way over to the array of candles.

"We light candles so that our prayers are better heard," Renji replied. "Some might pray for favors, while others might pray for the souls of others."

"It's a little bit like lighting incense," Byakuya said.

Renji did not think it quite the same, but he declined to press the point. He wasn't sure why Byakuya was here, but the boy's presence unnerved him. He could almost feel his body heat, they were standing so closely to one another.

"Can I help you with something, Byakuya?" he asked, not able to keep his voice from sounding a little bit curt.

"Does my visit upset you?"

The question forced Renji to take a deep breath. It was his fault that he was looking at Byakuya with such lust-filled eyes; he should not take it out on the boy. "No. I'm sorry if it seemed that way."

"May I light a candle?" Byakuya asked.

"Yes," Renji said, a little surprised at the offer. "Please do so."

Byakuya reached across Renji to grab a wooden stick, then used it to transfer the light of one candle to another. As he did so his arm brushed against Renji's arm, sending a shiver through the priest's body. They were close enough that Renji could smell the scent of Byakuya's hair, some combination of soap and sandalwood.

"A prayer for this church," Byakuya said. "May it serve as a beacon for all Japanese Catholics."

Byakuya turned towards him, those pink lips slightly parted. They were, Renji realized, close enough to kiss.

"Was that alright?" Byakuya asked, his voice a throaty murmur.

Renji quickly took a step back and cleared his throat. His heart was racing in his chest. "Yes. Yes, thank you."

Byakuya took a step forward. "Are you okay, Father? You seem a bit flushed."

"Yes. . . well, actually, I'm feeling somewhat unwell. I should go rest. If you could come back some other time, I'll be happy to teach you about the Catholic faith."

Byakuya was frowning, but he nodded. To Renji's immense relief, he turned to go.

"You are a test," Renji said, under his breath. He said it more to himself than to Byakuya, and didn't realize that it was loud enough for Byakuya to hear. But it didn't stop Byakuya from turning to face him, something swirling in those large eyes. Renji stepped back a little bit.

"Do not be so arrogant," Byakuya said, accentuating every syllable, "to think that your God has put me on this Earth merely as a test to you."

"I apologize," Renji said, not wanting to get into an argument with Byakuya, not when he was sure the outcome would not be good for him. "Now, if you'll excuse me, confessional will be starting soon."

It was a lie, for which he would do penance later. Still, darting into the confessional booth and closing the door comforted him. Inside that small, dark space, he was able to calm his racing heart, if only by a little bit. He sat down on the wooden bench there, only to have his head snap open as the door was opened again. Byakuya stepped through into the tiny space, his knees bumping against Renji's thighs. The door shut behind him; it was an ominous, foreboding noise.

"Byakuya," Renji said, but his voice was a strained whisper.

Byakuya was much too close to him, this space was much too small. That willful pride was burning in Byakuya's eyes, and Renji wondered if he had gone too far in injuring it. Byakuya stepped closer, placing a knee on the side of Renji's bench. Renji could smell the boy's scent all around him, could feel his body heat radiate through the air.

"If I am a test," Byakuya said, not a little derisively, "then I should be sure to test you properly."

Renji gasped as a slim hand found its way to the front of his cassock, pressing down just so on the bulge that had formed there. Renji placed one hand on the wall, one hand on Byakuya's chest, but even if he pushed the boy away he would not go far in the small space. Besides, there was no strength in his limbs.

"Stop," he said, but Byakuya seemed to melt into his lap, even as that hand pressed down more insistently.

Renji's couldn't help but moan at the touch, at Byakuya's hand rubbing him through the thick cloth of his priestly robes. Byakuya leaned forward all the more, and then there lips were touching, Byakuya soft and pliable against his mouth. Renji had never tasted anything so sweet, and the gentle pressings of their lips sent vibrations right to his heart.

But then Renji gasped as Byakuya's hand found its way past the folds of his cassock. He blushed as Byakuya's hand grabbed onto his bare flesh, onto the turgid evidence of his desire. Renji tried, one last time, to push Byakuya away, but Byakuya grabbed his wrist. The sound of a door opening outside startled Renji from the world they had made for themselves in the booth.

"Be quiet," Byakuya whispered, "or one of your constituents will discover us."

Renji gulped as he listened to the sound of footsteps walk across the church floor. Whoever was out there, it sounded as though he walked to the pews before stopping, no doubt to kneel in prayer. Renji bit his lip as Byakuya pulled out his cock from between the stiff folds of his cassock. It stood, hard and dripping, between them, the flesh of it flushed red.

Byakuya let go, and started to climb off Renji's lap. Renji let out a breath, glad that the boy was stopping. Only to have to slam his hand over his mouth to keep from moaning as a hot, wet tongue touched the tip of his cock. Renji closed his eyes and made a sign of the cross of his chest. This was sinful and wicked, and he hadn't the strength to stop it. His whole body shivered as Byakuya's hand came to cup his balls, as Byakuya's tongue lavished a bath upon his engorged flesh. It swept up and down his shaft, paying particular attention to the sensitive curves and ridges of his head. It felt like nothing Renji had ever experienced before.

Byakuya's tongue left him. He did not know if he was relieved or disappointed, but before he could decide he felt his cock completely enveloped in wet heat. Renji had to bite his tongue to keep from moaning. He realized with a start that his flesh was now inside Byakuya's mouth, that Byakuya was sucking on him. His hips thrust up into Byakuya's mouth of their own accord. Even as his mind prayed for this delicious torture to stop, his body wanted more.

In a moment of weakness, Renji opened his eyes and looked down. It proved to be his undoing. The sight of Byakuya with his cock in his mouth, relishing it as though it was some exotic treat, went straight to his groin. Renji gave a muffled cry as he came, his hips jerking as his flesh spilled its sinful seed down Byakuya's waiting throat.

"Father Abarai?"

Renji froze at the voice, coming from outside. He stopped breathing as his heat raced. Whoever was out there had stood up, and was walking towards them. Renji could hear the footsteps, could hear them coming closer. They stopped in front of the confessional. Renji closed his eyes, sure that the loud beating of his heart was audible throughout the entire church. But then the footsteps started again, only this time they were walking away. He heard the door to the church open and close. Whoever was out there before, he was gone now.

Renji looked down to see Byakuya languidly stroking his still hard cock.

"There is so much passion inside you," Byakuya said, his eyes glazed, "you've just come and yet you're still so hard."

Byakuya stood up, and Renji watched in a daze as he reached under the folds of his yukata. In a moment he was pulling away a thin piece of white cloth; the white cloth of his fundoshi. Renji gulped to think that Byakuya was now bare underneath those robes. Without thinking he reached forward, his fingers wrapping around Byakuya's obi. He pulled it back, and it fluttered to the floor as the front of Byakuya's yukata parted.

Renji's fingers trembled as Byakuya's slender pink cock was revealed. How he wanted to lean forward, to take it in his mouth. But Byakuya, it seemed, had different ideas.

Byakuya climbed back onto Renji's lap. As he did so he reached behind him, fingers gripping onto the base of Renji's shaft. Renji's breath caught as the tip of it nudged against Byakuya's entrance, suspiciously wet. His palms, moist and clammy, gripped onto Byakuya's sides. He felt powerless to stop this, to do anything but let Byakuya take the lead. And then Byakuya was sinking down onto him.

Renji gasped and threw his head back. It hit against the wooden wall of the booth, sending a dull pain through his head. That was nothing, though, compared to the pleasure that was slowly enveloping his lower body. He felt like he was being consumed. Squeezed and held tight by soft heat. He cried out as Byakuya's body swallowed him completely, as he was completely buried in the youth.

Renji couldn't take it anymore. Lust and nature took over. . . he wanted more. Even as his mind wondered what more was, his body knew. With a cry he stood up, pinning Byakuya to the wall. Arms and legs wrapped around his body as he started to move, thrusting over and over into that tight heat. He felt like an animal in heat, but he didn't care. He could hear his cries and grunts filling the space around them, could hear Byakuya's pleasured moans, and they just spurred him to keep going. His mouth sought out Byakuya's flesh, sucking on the skin of his neck, lavishing it with kisses.

It felt so amazing. Why would God, Renji thought, make something so sinful feel so good. After awhile he heard Byakuya cry out. He felt the boy's fingers grasp at his robes, felt the boy's body clench around his still thrusting cock. The boy's pleasure spilled out onto the front of Renji's cassock. Renji gave a loud grunt before he came as well, pushing his cock deep inside Byakuya as his passion spilled forth.

Byakuya's face buried itself it the crook of his neck. Byakuya's hands tangled in his hair and held him close. They sunk to the floor of the confessional, both of them breathing heavily. The weight of what Renji had done had already started to bore down into him. No penance would correct this; only God could help him now. But even as Renji contemplated his doom, he couldn't help but hold Byakuya close to him, to breath in the boy's scent.

"Byakuya." He nestled into the boy's hair, pressed a kiss against his head.

"Renji." Byakuya looked up, their eyes meeting. He leaned forward, and then their lips were meeting too. In a kiss that was almost chaste, incredible given their circumstances.

Renji brushed Byakuya's hair out of his face. They were still joined together, and he would have to take steps to correct that shortly. "Byakuya, this can not happen again."

"Why not?"

Renji knew better than to start a conversation about morality with Byakuya. Byakuya was set in his beliefs, would never understand the Catholic way of thinking.

"I am a priest," Renji said, "and you are some one else's wakashu."

"You are _my_ priest now," Byakuya corrected, "and if you had been a samurai, I would have been yours. How can your God make a sin of something that feels so right?"

Renji sighed as he pulled Byakuya closer. "I don't know."

The thought weighed heavy in his mind, but for now he just wanted to stay like this. God would surely judge him a sinner when his time came, but if it meant that for the moment he could have Byakuya, maybe it was all worth it. He had already gone down this path, and he didn't think he had the strength to turn around. He held Byakuya to his chest, and prayed for both their souls.

* * *

It was the day of the summer solstice. The foreigners used it to mark midsummer and celebrated with great fanfare. Over the years the Japanese had joined in, until the festival was a mix of Eastern and Western traditions. The port was full of booths selling Japanese deserts and Western sweet cakes. Lanterns and streamers were hung on every roof and every street light; even some of the ships were decorated. Japanese and foreigners alike strolled through the crowded port, laughing and wishing one another well.

Since dawn the street outside the Marechiyo estate had seen more than its fair share of travelers. Due to its proximity to the port, many villagers passed by on their way to the festivities. Byakuya watched them on their joyful strolls until it was time for him to go as well; he tagged along beside Omaeda at the festival, content to let Omaeda buy him treats and baubles. Eventually they came into contact with some of the other samurai from the dojo, and Byakuya ran off to spar with the other wakashu while the older samurai discussed politics and the Northern dispute.

He didn't stay for long, though. Once Byakuya was assured that he would not be missed, he stole away. He made his way past thrums of festival-goers, through a labyrinth of colorful stands. He left the port and found his way back to the street leading to the Marechiyo estate. The street that, invariably, passed by the church.

The sisters, he knew, would not be there. He had seen them at the festival, enjoying time spent with several of their parishioners. But there was one man who Byakuya had been quick to notice was not with them, and the realization had led him to come back here as quickly as he was able to.

Byakuya let himself in through the Western-style white fence in front of the church and made his way inside . He walked through the empty space of the church proper, and into the back where the most living area would be found. Byakuya had become very familiar with the walls of this church, had snuck away here as often as he could over the last few weeks. When Omaeda had been occupied, when the sisters had been elsewhere. To steal clandestine moments, each one culminating in a tangle of lips and flesh.

He found Renji in the garden, tending to a plant that Byakuya was not familiar with. Renji was digging at and then pulling up on the plant leaves; small brown lumps would then appear from the soil, attached to the ends of the plant roots, and Renji would place them in a basket. Byakuya watched for a few moments before making his presence known.

"Why are you not at the festival?" he asked, stepping close to Renji.

"I wasn't really in the mood for big crowds today," Renji said, simply enough. "Besides, I'm trying to figure why these potatoes are doing so badly here. Maybe it's not cold enough here for them. . . maybe another species would do better in this area of Japan."

Byakuya had no idea what Renji was talking about and had no inclination to learn. He surmised accurately enough that Renji was trying to introduce some foreign plant to Japanese soil, but he certainly didn't come here to discuss agriculture.

Renji stood up, basket in hand. "You should stop coming here, Byakuya."

"You say that every time, Father Abarai."

And yet he had become rather complacent in their affair. With each visit, it took less and less time for Byakuya could get him to capitulate. As much as he was against it, Renji surely felt the pull between them just as sharply as Byakuya did.

Renji turned to go back into the house, Byakuya following him. They were in the hallway, steps away from Renji's room, when Byakuya reached out. His arms wrapped around Renji's waist and his cheek pressed against the harsh cotton covering Renji's back. Sometimes he thought that this was enough, just to hold the other man in his arms, to feel the heat from his body.

"Renji. . ."

Renji tensed slightly, but he turned in the circle of Byakuya's arms, and placed his own around Byakuya's shoulders. He buried his nose against the top of Byakuya's head, in the softness of his hair.

"Byakuya," he murmured, his voice a sigh, "why do you test me so?"

"Allow me this selfishness," Byakuya said, as he turned his face up. "I have little else in my life to look forward to."

As his lips met Renji's, Byakuya realized just how true those words were. Each day that passed within the gates of the Marechiyo estate was a day without incident or activity. Like a bird in a gilded cage, Byakuya could do little but flutter to and fro, looking out at the world outside. Renji was his one reprieve from the ennui that had overtaken his life. There was something inside of Renji that reminded Byakuya, if only vaguely, of Zaraki, although Renji was undoubtedly his own person.

At any rate, despite his protests Renji did little to physically dissuade Byakuya. On the contrary, Byakuya felt arms wrap around him, felt himself being pushed towards the bed. It wasn't long until Renji's kisses grew hot and frenzied against Byakuya's mouth, until articles of clothing started to find themselves on the floor.

The first time Byakuya had seen Renji naked, he had been surprised. The thick, loose cassock of his priest's outfit did little to showcase Renji's body. And what a body it was. All lithe, hard muscle, it would have been the envy of any samurai. Byakuya had taken his time in exploring that beautiful body, his hands and tongue tracing over every ridge and crevice. He wondered, in passing, how a priest would have developed such a solid build, but was too distracted by other activities to remember to ask.

Once they were completely naked, Renji pressed himself down against Byakuya on the bed. Byakuya could feel his back sink down into the soft mattress, could feel Renji's chest on his own. Renji's biceps flexed on either side of his head, and he brought his fingers up to trace along one of them, even as their lips met over and over again.

It was pleasurable just to feel the weight of Renji's body over his. There was something so comforting, something so substantial about it. Renji's hand moved down the side of his body, over the curve of his ass, but Byakuya stopped it there. He broke away from their fevered kisses just long enough to breath out a request.

"No," he said, words heavy and labored, "I want to make love like this."

He moved his hands down to cup Renji's ass, and pulled it closer into him. They both gasped as their hard cocks pressed against each other, and the gentle contact was enough to let Renji know what Byakuya wanted. He nodded and started to rock against the boy as Byakuya's legs came to wrap loosely around his waist. Every rut of his hips sent pressed their cocks together, and the friction that was created sent waves of pleasure throughout both their bodies.

It felt amazing. It felt like every inch of their flesh was pressed together. Even without penetration they felt connected, and it wasn't long before their moans and pants filled the air. Byakuya could feel Renji's cock pulse against his own, could feel the heat of the other man's body. He clung to his shoulders, clung to his waist, felt the pleasure building up in his body. At some point Renji's hair came out of his ponytail and hung around them like a silk curtain, and Byakuya longed to run his hands through it.

"Byakuya. . ." his name on Renji's lips was a breathless pant. "I'm coming. . ."

"Not yet." Byakuya tightened his arms, gripped the man even closer. Just a little bit more, just a few more moments. "I want to come together."

Byakuya reached his hand down between them. He wasn't sure how, there was no space between their skin, but he managed. And then his hand wrapped around the both of them, together, pressed their cocks even more tightly against each other. One firm stroke was enough, and Byakuya felt his climax spiral out of him. He could feel Renji's orgasm as well, could feel both their cocks jerk in his hand. Their seed shot into the air, intermingling, before making a mess of both their stomachs.

After it was done Renji sunk down into Byakuya's body. Byakuya kept his arms wrapped around the man, but he let his legs sink back onto the bed. They were both barely breathing, the sounds of their heavy pants filling the room too easily. Byakuya nuzzled against the softness of Renji's hair, into the crook of Renji's neck. It was rare that they could enjoy their shared afterglow like this, and so he was going to savor it.

But then something out of the corner of his eye caught Byakuya's attention. At first it just seemed as though something was. . . off, somehow. He had to blink several times before he realized what it was.

"Renji," he said, tapping Renji against the man's shoulder.

The brief touch was enough to get Renji to roll off at him, and look up with a questioning gaze.

"You set your basket of potatoes down on the table, did you not?"

Renji turned to look. The basket was overturned; the potatoes strewn across the floor. As though someone had bumped into the table, or knocked them off. Byakuya quickly got up and made his way to the basket. There was something glimmering on the floor there, and Byakuya plucked it up between his fingers. A thin red ribbon. His mind raced for several moments before he remembered. . . didn't Rikichi tie his hair up in a ribbon?

Byakuya rushed to get clothed as Renji did the same. He ran out of the church, only to freeze. There, standing in front of the church's white-painted fence, a rather particular crowd had gathered. There was Omaeda, his face pale and eyes large as he watched Byakuya spring forth from the church, Renji following closely behind. Rikichi, hair down, was standing next to Omaeda, his glare accusing and strangely moist as he pointed at Byakuya. He was saying something, but Byakuya couldn't hear. He couldn't hear anything but his own racing heartbead, loud and gushing in his ears.

A few of Omaeda's high-ranking friends stood beside him, and a crowd of people were gathering to watch the spectacle. Giggles reached Byakuya's ears. Small laughs as some individuals sneered and pointed towards Omaeda. Omaeda had gone from shocked to looking as though he wanted to disappear into the ground. The once proud man now had his shoulders hunched over, and his eyes focused on the ground. He turned on his heel and started to stride away.

"Omaeda-san!" Byakuya rushed after him. He could hear now, could once again take in the noises around him. He caught up to Omaeda and placed a hand on the man's kimono sleeve, but Omaeda plucked it away. He stopped, but didn't turn around. When he spoke his voice was smaller than Byakuya had ever heard it, tinged with hurt and sadness.

"I know that I'm not the most handsome of men," Omaeda started, "nor the most courageous, but I have always treated you well. Did you really detest me so much that you felt fit to make such a fool of me?"

Byakuya didn't know what to say. He only stood there as Omaeda walked away from him, a lump forming in his throat. A hand pressed down on his shoulder, and when Byakuya turned he paled even more to see who it was.

"Grandfather. . ."

His grandfather couldn't even look at him. He was frowning as he stared to the side, his every muscle tense.

"Byakuya," he said, voice harsh, "go back to the family estate right now. You are not allowed to leave until you are told otherwise; I don't believe I need to tell you how shameful your actions are, or how disappointing."

As his grandfather turned away Byakuya felt nausea rush up into his stomach. The words and his family's disappointment were greater punishment than any sentence they could have carried out, and he had no one to blame for this but himself. He turned to get one last glance of Renji, but the man was talking with confused and angry parishioners, eyes focused on the ground. Byakuya turned and made his way back to his family home, knowing that to do anything else would invite even greater punishment.

Byakuya stayed locked up in his room for five days before anyone even said a word to him. He tried to practice his calligraphy, tried to meditate, but his thoughts were always turned towards Renji and what might happen to the other man. If something were to happen to Renji, it would be all his fault. Guilt from that and from having betrayed Omaeda assailed him, but there was little he could do about it now.

Finally, on the sixth day, a servant came to bear message to Byakuya from his elders. His sentence was one of exile: two years in the mountains west of Edo, where he would reflect on his actions in isolation. On the seventh day Byakuya was led to his see his grandfather. The older man sat at a desk, eyes studying the maps laid out there instead of looking at Byakuya.

"Grandfather," Byakuya said, bowing.

In response, his grandfather sighed before speaking. "To be honest, Byakuya, I have little to say to you. You were raised to know what was expected of you. You were raised to honor the ways of wakashudo. I have always expected you to become a magnificent samurai, and yet here you stand before me, disgraced. I only hope that in two years time you will be a better man than you are today. Your bag has been packed and an escort is waiting for you; you should leave before the sky grows dark."

Byakuya's eyes stung with his grandfather's easy dismissal of him, but there was one more thing he had to ask. "May I see Renji before I leave?"

"Do you really dare ask such a question?"

"No," Byakuya said, his voice catching a little bit, "of course not."

"You may go now."

Byakuya turned and left, fighting off the feelings that threatened to consume him. Just like that, he was being shipped off to unfamiliar lands and left alone, and he would not be able to even see Renji before he left. As he walked out of the house, catching sight of his horse and escort outside, he was surprised to see Rikichi waiting for him. The boy looked teary-eyed, a marked contrast to the angry glare he had been using on Byakuya just days before.

"Byakuya-sama," he said, jumping up to walk alongside Byakuya, "you have to do something!"

"I have nothing to say to you," Byakuya said, trying to keep his voice as even as possible.

"The priesthood is excommunicating Renji-san!" Rikichi didn't give up, just ran alongside him, trying to get his attention. "And they're making him go back to Connaught! I didn't know that when I told them, that this would happen. I didn't know that Renji-san would have to leave."

Byakuya did stop then, anger welling up inside of him. He turned towards Rikichi, his eyes set in a fierce glare.

"You wretched, silly boy," Byakuya spit out, not swayed even when his words brought tears to Rikichi's eyes, "I hope you're proud of what your actions have wrought."

But as mad as he was at Rikichi, Byakuya realized he had only himself to blame. He, not Rikichi, had been the one to disgrace the tradition of wakashudo. And it was his fault Renji was being excommunicated and exiled. He turned back around and made his way to his horse.

As his escort led him out of the city, Byakuya scanned his surroundings on the off chance that he might be able to spy Renji one last time. But he didn't so much as see a glimpse of long red hair. It was over. It was exile for them both. He would never again see Renji, not in this lifetime, and he had no one but himself to blame for it.

* * *

* This is based on an encounter between Jesuit friar Francis Xavier and the daimyo of Yamaguchi.

** This is taken from various kitsune folklore.


	3. Ode to the Mercurial Kitsune

Byakuya always awoke to the sound of his door being opened. But he allowed himself the pleasure of not waking directly; he would allow his subconscious mind to slowly recede, allow himself to come out of his dreams at a more casual pace. He would be half aware of the soft footsteps that crept across his floor, of the weight of a small body sinking down into his futon. By the time small hands reached to pull off his blankets and winter yukata, Byakuya was always wide awake.

"Byakuya-sama, where would you like to take breakfast today?"

"Hanatarou." Byakuya murmured his wakashu's name, his body still half asleep even if his mind wasn't. "I will take it in my study; I have some work to attend to."

"Are you hard right now, Byakuya-sama?" Fingers landed on his obi, untying it before pulling the folds of his yukata apart. "Do you want me to use my mouth on you, or do you want to do something more?"

"Your mouth will be fine."

Indeed, he had woken up completely erect. He closed his eyes as he felt himself enveloped by a hot mouth and Hanatarou began his morning ministrations. Though Hanatarou was proving to be a rather clumsy and inept samurai, he had become quite proficient in attending to Byakuya's sexual needs. An important trait, now that Byakuya's wife was heavily pregnant with their second child and unable to do so herself. After awhile Byakuya grunted and spilled his release down Hanatarou's waiting throat. The younger man kept sucking on him afterwards, waiting until Byakuya went completely limp before removing his mouth.

His yukata was pulled all the way off, and Byakuya stood as Hanatarou dressed him. Really, it was fine for the regular servants to do this, but Hanatarou insisted on doing it himself. Perhaps he thought enthusiasm in other matters made up for his lack of skill with the sword. First, Hanatarou wrapped a fundoshi around Byakuya's groin, and then helped the man into a formal kimono of heavy fabric. Wide hakama pants were next, followed by a black kataginu: a sleeveless jacket with exaggerated shoulders that stood out like triangles from Byakuya's frame. His hair was brushed out and left down, and he was ready for the day. Hanatarou trailing behind him, Byakuya made his way into the study.

As he sat down at his desk, Byakuya pulled out a box of letters. The latest correspondence from the northern border. He had been there, once, had spent three years there after his time in exile. By the end of those three years they had expanded the border by two farms and a village; now they were considering whether more territory was desired. A bowl of soup and some rice was placed on the desk beside him, and Byakuya ate as he went over his letters.

About half an hour later Byakuya heard loud footsteps and voices walking towards his study. There was only one man who was that inconsiderate while walking through the Kuchiki estate; sure enough, in a few moments a young man with bright orange hair walked through the door. He was holding what looked to be a three-year-old version of Byakuya on his hips, but dropped the child on the floor in front of his father's desk.

"Hey, Byakuya," Kurosaki Ichigo said, "how's everything going?"

"Botchan," Byakuya said, already feeling a headache starting, "just because you are the daimyo's son does not mean you should treat me so informally. At the very least, address me as Byakuya-san, if Kuchiki-san is too much for you to wrap your mind around."

"Oh. Yeah."

Byakuya sighed, knowing that while Ichigo acquiesced easily enough, he would do little to change his actual actions.

"Otosan! Otosan! Look what Ichigo-niisan taught me!"

Byakuya turned towards his son, putting the letter he had been holding down momentarily. "What did Ichigo teach you, Yasuhiro?"

The child smiled and swept his wooden sword in a wide arch, then beamed at his father.

"Very good, Yasuhiro," Byakuya said, nodding in approval. "You become a more accomplished swordsmen every day."

Yasuhiro nodded and ran off, smart enough to know not to bother his father in an important meeting. Ichigo watched the small boy leave, then sunk into a chair next to Byakuya's desk.

"He's a lot more expressive than you are."

Byakuya picked the letter back up, even as he watched Ichigo. "I am expressive enough for my own purposes. What brings you here today, Botchan?"

Ichigo shrugged. "Dad made me come. They picked up some guy coming into town, and he's staying at Urahara's while the good doctor checks him out."

"What does that have to do with me?" Byakuya asked. "Is this vagrant so dangerous your father would have need to send one of his most accomplished samurai to greet him?"

Ichigo shrugged again, and the gesture only aggravated Byakuya's mood. As the daimyo's son, Ichigo should be more well-bred than this. Byakuya blamed it on the fact that Ichigo's mother was the daughter of a lower-class merchant. But perhaps he was being overly harsh. Knowing their family, the father was just as much to blame, daimyo or no.

"Dad only said he thought you should go see," Ichigo said. "Didn't say why."

Byakuya sighed. If Isshin was suggesting it, he must have good reason for doing so. The man was many things, but frivolous was not one of them. Byakuya put the letter down one last time.

"Very well," he said. "If Kurosaki-sama asked me to go, then I will go. Will you be joining me?"

"Yeah. I've got some time to kill, and I'm curious about this guy."

"Are you so idle that there is nothing with which to occupy your time?" Byakuya asked, not a little disapprovingly.

Ichigo scowled. "And whose fault do you think that is? Dad says I can't go to the Northern border without you, and you're always saying that I'm not old enough to go yet."

"The last thing I want to do," Byakuya said, "is baby-sit you in battle. Hanatarou."

Hanatarou scampered out from behind the wall where he had been eavesdropping on the conversation, and ran to stand in front of Byakuya. "Yes, Byakuya-sama."

"Get the horses ready. We're going to visit Urahara."

Hanatarou nodded and ran out. Byakuya and Ichigo got up and followed at a much slower pace. Ichigo seemed excited enough, though Byakuya couldn't say he blamed him. It was true that Ichigo was not getting much stimulation, since everyone was rather overprotective of the young master. He didn't even have a nenju, despite the fact that he was of the age to take one; for quite some time he had pestered Byakuya to take him on, though that stopped after Byakuya had decided to apprentice Hanatarou.

Feeling a small amount of sympathy move through him, Byakuya resolved to take Ichigo to the northern border the next time he went. After all, Ichigo was quickly becoming a skilled swordsman, and deserved to see battle at this age.

Soon enough they were leaving the warm walls of the Kuchiki estate, stepping out into the dull winter, a winter as gray as it was cold. Byakuya was pleased, though not surprised, that Hanatarou had the horses ready.

"Good job, Hanatarou," he said, climbing onto his horse.

Hanatarou beamed at the praise before climbing up onto his own horse, and then the three men were off to Urahara's small shop and home.

Urahara had set up his home in the port, mostly for the sake of convenience. From there it was easy enough to do business with the merchants that came through, procuring whatever herbs and medicine he might need. Of course, merchants weren't coming through as often as they used to, a fact that Byakuya was reminded of when they rode into the port.

It was gray and empty. Not completely; there were exactly two ships docked in the port, no doubt carrying goods from other parts of Japan. But less than a decade ago there would have been five times that amount, and the cold streets would still be full of Japanese and foreigners alike. But since then the shogun had been clear: foreigners were no longer welcome in Japan. There was to be no foreign trade within Japan's borders. The country was unequivocally closed off. Alone, adrift in the open sea.

Byakuya felt a tinge of sadness to remember what the port had used to be, what it used to represent, but it was an emotion he was used to suppressing. He rode his horse down a rather steep stone ramp and disembarked in front of Urahara's shop. The door was unlocked, and Byakuya led the way inside. Jars of herbs and preserved organisms lined the many shelves along the wall, but the room was empty of people. Every one would no doubt be in the back, in the area of the building that Urahara had taken as his residence. Byakuya could hear noises forming as he stepped closer, Urahara's voice shaping itself into words.

"You seem healthy enough for a dead man. A little malnourished, but that's nothing a good meal wouldn't fix. I'm sure Byakuya would be more than happy to take care of that for you."

Byakuya frowned. Why on earth would he be happy to feed some malnourished man who had just wondered into their town? But then a laugh filled the space, and it froze Byakuya in his footsteps.

It was a loud, boisterous laugh, one that he had never forgotten. One that still rang in his deepest dreams, from time to time. But it was impossible. There was no way. . . Ichigo was staring at him now, his eyes questioning, and Byakuya did his best to hide his shaking hands and calm down. He raised a hand to the latch of the door, heart beating wildly in his chest and in his ears. He opened it and stepped through, feeling as though his heart would burst from the scene that was revealed to him.

Kenpachi sat there, long black hair and rough kimono looking exactly as Byakuya remembered. The man turned, revealing scars, a manic smile, and beaming eyes.

"Speak of the devil," Kenpachi said, eyes locked with Byakuya's. "You don't know how good it is to see you, kid."

Byakuya almost forgot himself and ran forward. As it was he took a quick step forward before remembering proper decorum and stopping himself. When he spoke, though, his voice was uncharacteristically shaky.

"Kenpachi. It's good to see you."

Out of the corner of his eye, Byakuya could see looks of surprise and awe come over Ichigo and Hanatarou's faces. They had heard about Kenpachi, of course. The youths at the dojo were still told of Kenpachi's exploits and battle prowess, and the unfortunate circumstances of his death.

Kenpachi chuckled. "Why so cold, kid? Come here, why don't you?"

But before Byakuya could take even one step forward, Kenpachi was walking towards him in long, quick strides. Those familiar, strong arms wrapped around him, and at that point Byakuya couldn't help but lose his composure. He buried his face in Kenpachi's chest and wrapped his arms around the larger man. His fingers tangled in the back of Kenpachi's kimono as he held him closer.

"How?" he asked, pressing as close as he could. "How are you here?"

"Hey, I'm here now, aren't I? Didn't think you'd get so emotional over this."

Byakuya didn't respond. He just enjoyed being in the circle of Kenpachi's arms, enjoyed the way he could feel Kenpachi's heart beat against his cheek. He still couldn't believe this; it seemed all too unreal.

Someone cleared their throat.

Byakuya and Kenpachi parted, just slightly, and looked back at a smiling Urahara.

"Kenpachi's more than welcome to leave," Urahara said, "so you two can have your reunion back at the Kuchiki estate, if you want."

Byakuya nodded. "Thank you, Urahara-san."

He turned to see that Ichigo and Hanatarou weren't there; no doubt they had gone ahead to give Byakuya and Kenpachi some privacy. Ichigo could be oddly considerate, every now and then, if he felt like it.

Byakuya left the store, Kenpachi's presence looming in his consciousness as the larger man followed close behind. When they got to his horse he climbed up first, Kenpachi behind him, and he was content just to lean back into the other man's body. Kenpachi's arms came up around him, his hands taking control of the reigns, and it almost felt as though no time had passed between them. Byakuya almost felt like an impetuous youth again.

Kenpachi snapped on the reigns, and they were off. As they rode Byakuya let his fingers trail up Kenpachi's left arm, until they met Kenpachi's wrist, twisted and gnarled in a way it wasn't before. He didn't have to ask the question before Kenpachi was telling him the story, voice muffled slightly in the wind.

"When the cave started collapsing real bad," Kenpachi said, "I started to run backwards instead of forwards. I got caught up in the collapse, sure, but not as bad as if I had gone the other way. When I woke up my wrist was caught under some rocks, had to pull it out. Looked a hell of a lot worse then than it does now. Wondered around the caves for a few years before I got out, and when I did I was in a different territory altogether. Took me a few more years to get back home."

Byakuya nodded and let his hand fall from Kenpachi's wrist. He was just glad that Kenpachi had found his way back, even if it had taken him so long to do it.

Byakuya was looking forward to catching up with Kenpachi in the privacy of the Kuchiki estate, but wasn't surprised to find that a crowd had already gathered by the time they got back. Several of Kenpachi's old friends from the dojo, including Yumichika and Ikkaku, were there, and even some of the younger students. They were no doubt eager to meet the legend they had heard so much about. At any rate, Byakuya resigned himself to a loud, festive evening, and invited everyone into his home for food, drink and cheer.

The next morning Byakuya woke up to the feeling of lips pressing against his neck. They did not, he decided, belong to Hanatarou. Large hands found their way to his thighs, creeping up the fabric of his yukata.

"Your little wakashu's an interesting guy," Kenpachi said, lips moving away for just a moment. "I sparred with him a little this morning."

"He tries hard," Byakuya murmured, coming out of sleep. "I can give him that much praise, at least."

"Mmm hmm."

It was almost instinct that made Byakuya bend his neck back, giving Kenpachi greater access to the soft skin there. But when Kenpachi's hands fell on the cloth of his fundoshi, Byakuya had the presence of mind to move away a little bit.

"Stop," Byakuya said, realizing that the word lacked conviction. "I'm long past the age where I can act as the wakashu."

"What are you so against? If it's taking it up the ass that you're against now that you've come of age, I'll do it. I never cared about those stupid rules."

Byakuya frowned. So Kenpachi was just as vulgar as ever. . . though, for some reason, Byakuya was hardly bothered by it right now. But there was still the matter of his contract with Hanatarou. . .

"I have a wakashu of my own now," Byakuya said, turning in an attempt put some distance between them.

"Hana-chan says it's fine. Already asked him about it, and he don't mind."

"He said that?" Byakuya asked, relaxing at the words. He felt Kenpachi's weight settle over him, felt Kenpachi's chest press against his back. He could feel the shape and hardness of Kenpachi's cock pressing against him through their clothing, and was having a hard time thinking of reasons they shouldn't be doing this. "I suppose, then, that this would be acceptable."

Kenpachi chuckled into Byakuya's skin as he untied the younger man's fundoshi. "Yeah. Cause acceptable's just the word to describe this."

Byakuya allowed himself a small smirk, but didn't say anything. He was more enraptured by the feel of Kenpachi's hand as it brushed his hair away, on the feel of Kenpachi's lips as they pressed back against his neck. As Kenpachi sucked on the skin there, his hands finished pulling away Byakuya's fundoshi, leaving the younger man bare underneath his yukata.

Byakuya moaned and arched as he felt fingers, already slick, press within the cleft of his ass. Despite Kenpachi's offer to act as wakashu, it was obvious that he had readied himself to be the nenja. His fingers nudged against Byakuya's entrance, eliciting a gasp from his lips. It had been a long time since he had done this, not since. . . not since Renji.

But that was then, and this was now. He had Kenpachi back, and Kenpachi was slowly easing his fingers inside of him. Byakuya held his breath; it felt tight, too tight, even if it was just fingers right now.

"Relax," Kenpachi murmured, breath hot against Byakuya's skin. "Spread your legs a little bit."

The request presented certain difficulties in their position. Byakuya bent his outer leg up and out as he rolled mostly onto his stomach, back arched. His yukata fell down over his shoulder, and Kenpachi took the opportunity to both press kisses against his back and push his fingers deeper inside the other man. Byakuya moaned at the further intrusion, though he had to admit it was easier now. And with every movement Kenpachi made with his fingers, he could feel himself open up even more.

Byakuya twisted his body at the waist, and reached an arm around the back of Kenpachi's neck. Kenpachi leaned forward so that they were chest to back once again, and their lips met in a hot, deep kiss. Kenpachi pulled his fingers out and moved his hand to Byakuya's leg, pulling it up so that it was draped over his hip and Byakuya was on his side. There was the sound of hakama being untied, but Byakuya was much too caught up with the feeling of Kenpachi's mouth on his to notice.

Byakuya was quick to take notice, however, when something hard and hot pressed against him. Their kiss broke, just slightly, hot breath still intermingling through their partly open mouths. Their foreheads pressed together as Kenpachi's cock pushed in, and Byakuya's fingers grasped tightly in Kenpachi's hair. It had been so long, but it felt so right, being filled like this.

"You feel even better than you used to," Kenpachi groaned, and Byakuya could feel the words on his lips.

"Don't speak," Byakuya replied, pulling Kenpachi forward again. "Just fuck me deeper."

Kenpachi chuckled, but it was a sound muffled in their subsequent kisses. In just a moment he had eased himself all the way in, and they both took a moment just to enjoy the feeling of being joined so completely.

But that complete feeling wasn't enough for long. Kenpachi pulled away, sliding out a few inches, before sliding back in again. The movement pushed a moan through Byakuya's lips.

"More," Byakuya said. "Harder."

"Always so demanding," Kenpachi chuckled, but it's not as though he was going to deny Byakuya's wishes. The next time he moved, he moved hard and fast, enough that his cock made Byakuya fall forward a little and cry out in pleasure.

Byakuya grasped at silken sheets as his upper body fell onto his futon. His back arched, and he wound up in a position half on his knees and forearms, Kenpachi following. He felt the weight of the other man on his back even as Kenpachi kept pistoning in and out of him, his cock spreading him open with every thrust. He could hear the noises of their union fill the room, could hear the sounds of flesh slapping into flesh, the wet noises of their fucking.

He could hear himself cry out, wanton and needy for that large cock. He never wanted Kenpachi to stop. He wanted him to keep fucking him like this forever, wanted to feel that hot cock pulsing inside of him. But he could hear Kenpachi's grunts from behind his ear, could hear the man getting close.

Byakuya pushed back against Kenpachi's body, and the older man took the hint. They moved together even as they stayed joined, into a seated position, Byakuya in Kenpachi's lap. Byakuya moaned when it felt as though Kenpachi sunk even deeper into him. He reached back and slung an arm around Kenpachi's neck as Kenpachi put his hands on Byakuya's waist. His head rolled back on Kenpachi's shoulder. Then Kenpachi lifted him up off his cock. . . only to slam him back down again.

Byakuya moaned and reached down with his one hand, wrapping his fingers around his own neglected cock. It was so hard it hurt, and flushed a deep red color. With Kenpachi lifting him on and off his cock, it didn't take Byakuya very long at all to come. All it took was a few strokes before he felt that tension build up in his balls, felt his cock start to twitch and shoot. A few streams of creamy white semen came shooting out in a low arch, to land on the fabric of Byakuya's yukata.

With one more grunt Kenpachi came as well, filling up Byakuya's insides with hot cream. Kenpachi kept fucking him even after he came, loath to leave that hot body, but eventually he had to pull out as he grew too limp. As he did he pushed Byakuya forward so that the younger man was on his hands and knees, and he lifted the bottom of the yukata up so that he could watch as a thin stream of cum dribbled out of Byakuya's pink hole and down his thighs.

Well, Kenpachi figured, since he had been the one to make a mess out of Byakuya's hole, he should be the one to clean it up. He leaned forward and traced his tongue over Byakuya's thigh, lapping up the semen that was dripping down that silky skin. He licked all the way up to Byakuya's hole, then dipped his tongue in, cleaning the man both inside and out.

Byakuya moaned and arched back into the sensation of Kenpachi's tongue inside him. It felt amazing, but unfortunately it didn't take Kenpachi long to eat all the cum he had left there. Too soon he was pulling away, was pulling Byakuya into his arms. They fell back into the futon, Byakuya spooned against Kenpachi's side, both of them breathing lazily.

"I though you said you would take the wakashu's role on the bottom," Byakuya murmured, though he hardly minded the roles they had taken.

"You seemed like you needed it more. Besides, we can always go another round, if you're up for it."

As enticing as the thought was, it was time for the day to began.

"We should get up," Byakuya said, noting that his servants would worry if he wasn't up soon. He was not, after all, what one would ever call a late sleeper.

"In a little bit," Kenpachi murmured. "Just let me enjoy laying here with you for a bit."

It was a request Byakuya couldn't find it in himself to deny.

They ended up getting up soon enough, perhaps half an hour after their orgasms. After they dressed and made their way outside, Byakuya was surprised to see Yumichika standing there. Byakuya had thought the old friends had spent enough time together last night. . . but, no, Yumichika seemed oddly serious. This was not, Byakuya supposed, just a social call.

"What's up, Yumi?" Kenpachi said as he walked up to Yumichika, apparently also sensing that something was a little different today.

"We just received word from a messenger at the northern border," Yumichika said. "Apparently the other side is amassing troops to take back the town we stole one year ago."

Kenpachi scoffed at that. "They can try."

Kenpachi's usual confidence brought a smile to Yumichika's lips.

"Yes, well," Yumichika said, "I thought you'd probably like to go help out. After all, it must have been some time since you were last in battle."

"You got that right." Kenpachi turned to Byakuya, eyes gleaming. "You interested?"

"Do you even have to ask?" Byakuya asked, tossing his hair back.

Kenpachi chuckled. "Guess we leave within the hour, then."

It took about an hour and a half to inform the daimyo and gather everyone to go. Ichigo was ecstatic when Byakuya invited him to come along, though Hanatarou seemed just a little bit nervous. In addition to them and Yumichika, Ikkaku also predictably decided to come, and soon enough the six of them started on their journey towards the north.

The journey itself passed without incident. It took less than a day to arrive, and the group found themselves riding into the northern-most town some hours after sundown. They tied their horses outside the inn and made their way inside the dining area. It was full of other samurai and warriors, mulling over food, beer and maps, but they all stopped when Byakuya and the others walked in.

All eyes, predictably, were on Kenpachi. Kaien, at the center of everything, looked especially surprised, his eyes huge and mouth parted. The surprise only lasted a moment before excitement took over and Kaien bounded over to give Kenpachi a tight hug.

"What are you doing here?" Kaien near-shouted, shock tinging his voice. "You're supposed to be dead!"

Kenpachi laughed at that. "Sorry to disappoint you, Shiba."

"Are you kidding me? I never thought I'd say this to your ugly mug, but you're a sight for sore eyes!"

Kaien wasn't the only one who wanted to greet Kenpachi, and he was soon surrounded by friends both old and new. Byakuya crept away to allow Kenpachi his fun; it seemed as though tonight would be another night of revelry. Hanatarou looked at him, questioning.

"Go ahead and stay," Byakuya said, even as he walked away. "It should be a fun night for everyone."

Hanatarou smiled and nodded, quick enough to grab a mug of beer. Byakuya hoped the small boy wouldn't become too intoxicated; Hanatarou was not known for being able to handle his alcohol.

At any rate, Byakuya made his way away from the crowds, stopping just long enough to get the attention of one of the men Kaien had designated as generals. He obtained the major details of the coming attack from him; the other side was planning to attack in the early morning, though there were watchmen stationed along the perimeter in case they decided to do it earlier. He had time for a few hours of sleep. Byakuya made his way to a free room and laid down to get some rest, much needed after the long day of travel.

He was awoken, a few hours later, by the sound of his door opening. He was expecting Hanatarou or Kenpachi, so was somewhat surprised to see a small lantern illuminating bright orange hair.

Ichigo, steps strangely hesitant, walked up to Byakuya's futon. He stood there for several moments, obviously needing to say something but unable to do so.

Byakuya sighed. "Is there something you need, Botchan?"

"Oh, Byakuya. Are you up?"

If Byakuya was the type to roll his eyes he would have right now. Instead, he sat up and watched as Ichigo sat down beside him. The lantern Ichigo held only had one small candle within it, and the light barely illuminated the space between them.

"Is something wrong?" Byakuya asked. Even in the darkness he could see that Ichigo was both scowling and blushing at the same time. The scowling wasn't so surprising. . . that was Ichigo's default expression, after all. But the pink tinge on his cheeks was something more rare.

"Umm. . . no. . . it's just that I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Discuss," Byakuya said, wondering when Ichigo was going to get on with it already.

If anything, Ichigo's blush intensified. "Yeah, well, you know how I don't have a nenja?"

"Yes," Byakuya said. "I'm aware of the fact."

"Well, I was thinking. . . you know, now Kenpachi's back, and I think we can all agree that he'd be suitable. He's definitely proven himself on the battlefield, and he doesn't seem like the type of person who'd be intimidated by the fact that I'm the daimyo's son."

"That's true enough," Byakuya said.

"Yeah, and, I'm getting kind of old. It's only a few years before my coming-of-age ceremony, so I'm running out of time to take a nenju."

Byakuya frowned. That was all very true, and he did feel sorry for Ichigo and the fact that the boy hadn't been able to share in the bonds of wakashudo yet.

"I don't mind if you and Kenpachi keep your old relationship going," Ichigo continued. "It's just that I want to take part in wakashudo too, you know? I might be the daimyo's son, but I'm also a samurai. So maybe you could talk to him, and maybe put in a good word for me? Ask him if he wants to take on a new wakashu?"

Byakuya nodded, realizing that it was a good idea. Kenpachi would be a good mentor for Ichigo, and wouldn't treat him any differently just because he was the young master.

"Okay," Byakuya agreed, "I'll talk to him about it."

Ichigo's scowl lifted for a second as his eyes lit up. "Thanks, Byakuya!"

As Ichigo left the room, Byakuya groaned into his pillow. "It's Byakuya-san."

Byakuya awoke before dawn the next morning. Hanatarou was snoring gently beside him, cheeks still flushed from his alcohol consumption. Byakuya left him for now; a few more minutes of sleep wouldn't hurt, and he could always wake Hanatarou up later.

He made his way back down to the dining area, which was also doubling as the tactical planning area for their group. Kaien was already up, of course, as the leading general in charge in the moment. He looked up as Byakuya came into the room and smiled.

"Didn't feel like joining in on the festivities last night?"

"You know as well as I do that raucous celebrations are not my cup of tea," Byakuya countered. He came to stand next to Kaien at the table, and looked down at the map spread out on the table there. "What is this place?"

"The outlands at the border," Kaien replied. "According to our scouts, the enemy troops are leading them through this path; we'll be there to ambush them. If they keep traveling at the same pace, they should be there in three hours. We'll have everyone stationed in place in two."

Byakuya nodded. "And I assume you've come up with a strategy."

"Of course," Kaien said, grinning. "Who exactly do you think I am? I've already marked the best places where we can wait for them. You and Kenpachi don't mind being split up, do you? It would help if you were both leading your own groups of men."

"Of course not," Byakuya said. "That's only logical. But have Ichigo placed within Kenpachi's troops."

Kaien raised an eyebrow at that. "Yeah? Aren't you supposed to be in charge of the kid?"

"I just want to see how well they work together," Byakuya replied.

The two went over battle strategy as the other generals joined them, until it was time to head out. Byakuya was given twenty men, Hanatarou and Yumichika among them. A small team, but their role wasn't expected to be as large as any of the other troop groups. Positioned on high terrain, they had a clear vantage point of most of the battleground. Byakuya was supposed to send troops wherever they were needed, and keep an eye out for any unexpected developments.

The waiting was the worse part. The anticipation as they stood there with their horses, or on foot, no one making any noise lest the enemy hear them too far in advance. The adrenaline that built up within him made Byakuya wish that he was on the front lines of this battle; it was his bad luck to be as skilled of a tactician as he was a samurai.

Finally, after what seemed like forever but must have been just a scant hour, the enemies became visible over the horizon. Byakuya gave the signal for someone to shoot an arrow. A signal, one invisible from the enemy's position but which their own army could see clearly.

As the enemy came closer, Byakuya tried to estimate their number. They outnumbered Byakuya's army, but from the way they carried themselves, most of them didn't seem to be professional warriors. A make-shift army; they would be easily taken care of.

Kaien's troops were the first to make a move, heading out as soon as the enemy was close enough, all the other groups following. Byakuya watched from his position, watched as the enemy spread out through the multiple possible paths, as their army followed.

"Five men," Byakuya said, pointing to five of his troops, "to the eastern-most path. Hanatarou, go lead some of Kenpachi's men to the central hill, he doesn't need them all there."

Hanatarou gulped nervously but did as he was told, riding away at the same time as the other five. That taken care of, Byakuya watched as the battled progressed, pleased with how it was going. It shouldn't last more than a few hours, really, and it would be quite some time before the enemy tried to reclaim the town again.

His eyes landed on Kenpachi and his men. They looked small, in the distance, but not so small that Byakuya couldn't see what was happening. He could see Kenpachi and Ichigo, working well enough together as they cut down multiple enemies each. Kenpachi, Byakuya was pleased to note, seemed just as lethal as he had been before.

Byakuya looked over at Yumichika, not surprised to see that the other man was also staring down at Kenpachi. He was surprised to see, however, that Yumichika was frowning.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

The question seemed to jolt Yumichika out of his thoughts, though it didn't erase the frown from his face. He looked up at Byakuya, his expression somewhat befuddled.

"Oh, no," he said, shaking his head, "nothing's wrong. I was just watching Ken-chan fight. His swordplay was never this elegant, was it?"

Byakuya frowned as he turned back to watch Kenpachi. He was extremely familiar with Kenpachi's swordplay, of course. It was efficiently devastating, and beautiful in its own way, but elegant was definitely never a word that would be used to describe it. And yet Yumichika was right. Kenpachi's movements now were almost graceful in their execution.

"The years change a man," Byakuya said, though he was still frowning. "His fighting style could have changed in all this time."

"I suppose," Yumichika said, "it's just odd to watch him move like that, I suppose. You wouldn't expect movement like that from someone like Ken-chan."

Byakuya nodded, finding he couldn't really disagree. But people changed, especially over such a long time frame. And Kenpachi must have altered his fighting style somewhat after his left hand was injured, that was only to be expected.

A few hours later, much as Byakuya predicted, the fighting was done. The enemy troops were either dead or run off, and their men were cheering as they cleared the battlefield and started to walk home. Byakuya turned his horse around and led his remaining men to go join them. It wasn't long before he found Kenpachi in the crowd, and spurred his horse on to ride beside him.

"It's a relief to see you haven't lost your touch," Byakuya said.

"Bet you wished you were in on the action," Kenpachi said, chuckling. "Most fun I've had in years."

"And what did you think of Ichigo?"

"Good kid," Kenpachi replied. "Quick learner. He took out more guys than a lot of the more experienced troops there."

"What do you think of him as a wakashu?"

"Yeah? Kid his age doesn't have a nenju?" Kenpachi raised an eyebrow at the situation. "Guess I'm not against the idea. Give me a little time to think it over."

Byakuya nodded, pleased that Kenpachi was at least interested in the proposition.

"You gonna join in the celebrations tonight?" Kenpachi went on to ask.

Now it was Byakuya's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Do you remember anything about me at all?"

Kenpachi laughed at the question. "Hey, it was worth a shot. Maybe you've gotten funner since then."

"More fun," Byakuya corrected, though there was a smirk on his lips. "Funner is not a word."

"Yeah, yeah. No staying up late drinking and carousing for Byakuya. What about afterwards, though, you up for a little meeting in your boudoir? Thats what you call it, right? Bedroom doesn't seem fancy enough for you."

Byakuya smiled at that. "Unfortunately, I have been remiss in attending to Hanatarou lately. I should spend tonight with him."

"Ahh, well, can't be helped. At any rate, now that I'm back, we'll have all the time in the world to spend together." Kenpachi turned to look at him, smiling. And, as their eyes met, Byakuya couldn't help but smile back.

Predictably, once the men got back to the inn they wasted no time in ordering drinks and food. A raucous celebration soon followed, and Byakuya used the opportunity to slip away to the bath.

The inn was lucky enough to be in the vicinity of a hot spring, which was tapped into by a special well. Next to that well was a cylindrical wooden tub, and as Byakuya made his way out there he saw that Hanatarou had already filled it up. The water steamed from the brim of the tub, looking warm and inviting.

Now that Byakuya was there, Hanatarou came over and helped him remove his clothing, piece by piece. After that was done Byakuya sat down at a nearby bench while Hanatarou rolled up his sleeves and grabbed a towel. As Byakuya sat, Hanatarou repeated dipped the towel into a bucket of hot water and brought it up to scrub away at Byakuya's skin.

Byakuya reveled at the feeling of hot water as it washed over his body. Hanatarou's hands against his back, through the towel, were exactly what he needed after a long day on the field. All the dirt and sweat that had been accumulating on him were easily washed away, until he was ready to relax in the clean, hot bath.

He climbed up the side of the tub before sliding down into it, feeling his every muscle relax as he was surrounded by water. Sitting down, it came almost up to his chin, and the walls of the tub were high enough to support the back of his head.

"Hanatarou," he called, "come join me."

"But I'm not clean yet," Hanatarou said, a slight whine to his voice.

"It's fine. Just come join me."

There was a splash of water, and Byakuya surmised that Hanatarou had just dumped the whole bucket of water over his head in a quick attempt to get clean. No matter, though. In just a few moments Hanatarou was climbing over the side of the tub and joining Byakuya in the intimate confines. With no space to go anywhere else, he lowered himself into Byakuya's lap so that they were face to face.

Byakuya placed one hand on Hanatarou's waist as the other reached up to brush wet hair out of Hanatarou's face. The water splashed slightly with their movements, ripples sounding in the small space.

"How did you feel about today?" Byakuya asked.

"Mmm. . . it was scary, I guess," Hanatarou said, blushing a bit in embarrassment as he admitted it. "I'm kind of glad that we weren't in the middle of combat."

Byakuya frowned at the admittance, though he hadn't expected anything more. "It's fine to be afraid of battle, but that's something you will have to face head on. You are a samurai, after all."

"Yeah," Hanatarou said, pouting. "I guess so."

"Maybe more experience in battle would do you some good. I should take up more expeditions outside of the city."

"No, that's okay," Hanatarou said, a little too quickly. "Umm. . . I mean, with your wife pregnant, it's probably not a good idea."

Byakuya frowned, quite sure his wife was not the source of Hanatarou's concern. Though the boy did have a point. Byakuya sighed. "Fine."

Hanatarou smiled, instantly relieved. "Thanks, Byakuya-sama."

Hanatarou leaned forward then, wrapping his arms around Byakuya's neck as he pressed their lips together. Hanatarou enjoyed kissing, and Byakuya knew that, so they spent some time just doing that. After awhile, though, Hanatarou started to press himself against Byakuya more insistently, and Byakuya took that as a sign to take things further.

Byakuya pulled at Hanatarou's waist, just enough to direct the boy to rise up onto his knees. Hanatarou was quick to take the hint, and soon the water was splashing loudly against he wooden walls of the tub as he got up. Byakuya's hands drifted down his sides, down his thighs, as Hanatarou's already hard cock appeared in front of him.

As Hanatarou gripped the edge of the tub to keep balance, Byakuya leaned forward to take the boy's cock into his mouth. Hanatarou gave a mewl and thrust his hips forward, but Byakuya's hands on his waist kept him from thrusting in too far. It allowed Byakuya to take his time, taking the boy in centimeter by centimeter, all the while swirling his tongue over the hot flesh.

Hanatarou didn't seem to dislike the slow treatment, if the noises he was making were any indication. He was gasping and moaning, and every now and then Byakuya could hear a word uttered from his lips. Something like "more" or "yes," muttered in a distracted, breathy way.

Hanatarou tasted fresh and clean, and Byakuya enjoyed the feel of him inside his mouth. But sucking off Hanatarou wasn't this evening's main event. Byakuya reached backwards with one hand, his middle finger heading straight to Hanatarou's hole. It pressed against the puckered rim there and easily slid in. Hanatarou was warm, soft and slick, no doubt having prepared himself beforehand. Still, that didn't keep Byakuya from playing with his ass a little, fingering him even as he sucked him off.

As much fun as it was playing with Hanatarou like this, eventually Byakuya was ready for me. He pulled his finger out as he released Hanatarou's cock, then guided the boy back down onto his lap. Not all the way down, though. When Hanatarou was still half kneeling, Byakuya reached one hand between his legs to grip onto his cock. As he slowly lowered Hanatarou down he guided his cock towards that little hole, until he was pressing against that slight resistance.

Hanatarou squirmed a little in his grasp, though he seemed eager enough. They both held their breath for a second as Byakuya pressed upward, as his cock pushed past that tight ring of muscle. With one sudden push he was in, and his cock slid about an inch into that soft heat before he caught a hold of Hanatarou's waist. He steadied the boy before lowering him slowly, centimeter by centimeter onto his cock.

After awhile Hanatarou was fully seated in Byakuya's lap, the older man's cock buried deep inside of him. His cheeks were flushed, eye heavy-lidded.

"How do you feel?" Byakuya asked.

"Amazing," Hanatarou breathed back.

Byakuya nodded. His hands firm around Hanatarou's waist, he started to lift the small man up and down on his cock. It wasn't difficult, considering Hanatarou's light build. Hanatarou moaned and gasped as he was impaled over and over again, and Byakuya started to feel his breaths grow more labored. It felt good, being inside of another man. Almost as good as being inside of a woman, though neither of those was as enjoyable as having someone inside of him.

It didn't take long before Byakuya started to thrust up into Hanatarou as well. As their flesh met it sent ripples through the water, sent the water up to splash against the walls. But the splashing sounds were slightly muffled in the steam that hung over the water, overshadowed by Hanatarou's gasps and Byakuya's heavy breathing.

Byakuya leaned forward, his lips pressing against whatever flesh he could find. Hanatarou's hot, moist skin, on his neck, on his chest, anywhere Byakuya could reach. Hanatarou arched into his kisses, mewling with each one.

After awhile Byakuya could feel himself grow close. He reached into the water between them, hand closing around Hanatarou's now half-soft cock. Hanatarou yelped at the contact and his body gripped Byakuya more tightly for a moment, but soon enough he was moaning and growing hard in Byakuya's hand.

Byakuya stroked him as they rocked together, feeling himself approach orgasm, sensing the same in Hanatarou. He was the first to come. His eyes clenched and a cry reverberated in his throat, though it didn't escape his lips. He could feel his cock twitch inside Hanatarou, could feel it shoot out semen, and feel that wonderful feeling of climax spread through his groin.

After he was done, he still had the presence of mind to keep stroking Hanatarou, who wasn't that much behind him. With a shout Hanatarou came, shooting himself into the tub water.

Afterwards Hanatarou clung to him, arms wrapped around his shoulders as they both breathed deeply. His hands rubbed circles on Hanatarou's back, until he felt it was time to pull away.

"Let's go," he said, his voice a soft murmur.

Hanatarou nodded in agreement, and they both climbed out of the tub.

Less than two days later, the men were back at the Kuchiki estate and settling back into their normal lives. Kenpachi was staying with Byakuya instead of at the dojo, which suited Byakuya just fine. Right now he watched as Kenpachi sparred with Ichigo, who had come to visit, in one of the courtyards.

Byakuya sipped on a cup of tea as he and Hanatarou watched the fight, but they were interrupted when a servant came to call for Byakuya.

"Byakuya-sama," he said, bowing low, "there's someone by the front gate to see you."

Byakuya nodded. He wasn't expecting company, but it wasn't such a surprise to have someone visit, especially now that Kenpachi was back. "I'll see to him shortly."

The servant bowed again and scampered away. Byakuya, on the other hand, walked towards the front of the estate at his leisure. He was surprised, when he got there, to see Yumichika and Ikkaku. They had, after all, only seen Kenpachi a few days ago.

"Yumichika. Ikkaku. Won't you come in?" Byakuya asked. "Are you here to congratulate Kenpachi?"

At the confused stares that met his question, Byakuya gathered that they were not.

"He is to be bonded with Ichigo in wakashudo tonight."

"Huh," Ikkaku said, looking even grumpier than normal. "I guess that would be cause for celebration. If, you know, it was actually Kenpachi."

Byakuya frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"I don't like to say this," Yumichika said. "You know, Byakuya, that we would be happier than anyone to have Kenpachi back. But I don't think that man is Kenpachi. There's his fighting style, and the fact that he's always carrying that little bag around his waist. Kenpachi was never big on possessions before, never had anything more than his swords with him."

"We discussed his fighting style," Byakuya countered. "And he has been traveling for these last several years. What would you suggest he keep his money in, if not a standard bag that, I remind you, all of us use?"

"But that's not all," Yumichika said, frown growing. "When he came back, he was measured for new clothing. All his measurements are different."

"You speak as though people don't gain or lose weight."

"But do people lose in height?" Yumichika asked. "This Kenpachi is two sun* shorter than he was before you two left for the eastern passage. Can you explain that? Men don't start to shrink at his age."

"Measurements can be wrong," Byakuya said. "They could have been wrong to began with. Surely you two don't believe this? If that man isn't Kenpachi, who do you believe he is, exactly? Some doppelganger impostor?"

Yumichika and Ikkaku were both frowning now.

"I don't know," Ikkaku said. "But something doesn't sit well with me. I want him to be Kenpachi, I do, but something in my gut's telling me that's not him. Just. . . just, keep an eye out, Byakuya. I know we will."

Byakuya sighed. "Is there nothing I can do to alleviate your concerns?"

"I apologize," Yumichika said. "But I wouldn't bring this up at all unless I felt that my concerns were valid. I just wanted to let you know before I bring it up with the daimyo and the dojo."

Byakuya could not believe this. Yumichika was actually going to turn this into an issue. . . well, at any rate, there was nothing Byakuya could do about it. "Fine. Do as you must."

"Sorry, again, Byakuya," Ikkaku said, even as the duo turned to leave.

Byakuya didn't say anything as he watched them go. In a way, he was dumfounded. Shouldn't they just be happy that Kenpachi was back with them? Why did they feel the need to question it at all? He made his way back to the courtyard to find that now Ichigo and Hanatarou were sparring, while Kenpachi was watching and occasionally yelling out tips.

Byakuya came to stand next to Kenpachi, taking in the ragged planes and scars of his face, the knotted muscles of his body. He looked like the Kenpachi he knew. The Kenpachi he remembered.

Kenpachi turned to him, an amused glint in his eyes.

"See something you like?" he asked, a half-manic grin on his face.

His attitude was most definitely also the same.

"Just wondering how I ended up with a boor like you as a nenja," Byakuya teased. Before their bondng the statement would have been said with no small amount of maliciousness, but not it was almost a type of foreplay.

Kenpachi laughed. "Yeah? Didn't hear you complaining about it last night. Or the afternoon before."

Byakuya smiled a little bit at those oh so recent memories. "Do you remember the days after our bonding ceremony?"

"Are you kidding me? How could I forget? We barely even left the inn room, it was great. You getting nostalgic on me?"

"Possibly," Byakuya replied. "If only just a little."

His eyes landed, then, on the bag tied around Kenpachi's waist. It brought a small frown to his face as he remembered Yumichika's words. It's true that Kenpachi was never one for possessions, had never used a bag before, even in his travels. But the small cloth pouch wasn't uncommon on travelers, and Byakuya hadn't even noticed it on Kenpachi until Yumichika had mentioned it.

"This is new," Byakuya said, reaching for the pouch. "Did you acquire it during your travels?"

To Byakuya's surprise, Kenpachi jerked away from his hand. They stared at each other for a long moment, both a little bit confused. But then a grin overtook Kenpachi's face.

"Hey, sorry, you surprised me. Just so used to muggers and tramps trying to rip me off. But, yeah, picked it up pretty early on, needed a way to keep my money on me."

Byakuya nodded. It was pretty much what he had expected; no doubt Kenpachi had grown used to carrying it around, and was now keeping it near him at all times out of habit. It was silly to worry about such a little thing. But still, there was something in him that pressed him to ask what he did next.

"Do you remember when we first began our courtship?" Byakuya asked. "Before our wakashudo bonding?"

"Yeah," Kenpachi said. "Of course I do. What about it?"

"I'm just remembering how happy we were. We got along so well from the beginning, didn't we?"

"Yeah," Kenpachi replied, with absolutely no trace of sarcasm or irony. "Those were great days."

Byakuya felt a chill run through his body and settle at the pit of his stomach. But the man in front of him was grinning, reaching out for him. He let Kenpachi pull him into his side, let the older man press a kiss against the top of his head.

"It's nice being home," Kenpachi said, and Byakuya couldn't find it in himself to disagree.

That night, both Kenpachi and Byakuya made their way to the dojo, though they parted soon after getting there. Kenpachi to get ready for his wakashudo ceremony, Byakuya to get ready to bear witness to it. Byakuya was led to a small room where Ukitake and Kaien, back at least for now, were already sitting. They smiled at him as he kneeled by Ukitake's side, taking in the room.

It was sectioned off from the main room by a screen, only the bottom open to allow passage of the ceremonial cup of sake. Through the screen he couldn't see much; just the silhouette of flames as they danced atop their candles. Byakuya had been in a room just like this several times now, on both sides of the screen.

Ukitake, as the most senior in the dojo, would be conducting the ceremony, and he smiled and patted Byakuya on the knee.

"You must be excited," he said, "now that Kenpachi's back."

"I'm sure he's more excited that Botchan will have a mentor now," Kaien said. "Now the brat won't be bothering you every other day for lessons."

"Of course," Byakuya replied, not a little drily, "I am overjoyed with both occurrences, especially the latter."

"But Kaien," Ukitake said, sharing a conspiratorial glance with his former wakashu, ""now that Kenpachi's living with Byakuya, doesn't that mean Botchan will move in as well?"

"Already taken care of," Byakuya said, not allowing the two men to tease him. "They will have their own building in the estate, of course. Close enough to visit, but far away enough to keep from visiting too often."

Kaien chuckled. "Oh, give it up. You like our little botchan, just admit it."

"I will admit no such thing," Byakuya said, though there was a smile on his face. "He is a rude, stubborn child, and I am glad that he is to be passed on to someone else to take care of."

Their conversation was interrupted by a knock, and the screen door was being pulled to the side. One of the younger dojo members stood there, and he looked directly at Byakuya.

"Kuchiki-san," he said, "Ichigo's asking for you."

Kaien couldn't help but laugh. "Guess he's still your problem, Byakuya, at least for now. Better go see what he wants."

Byakuya frowned as he got up. He let the boy lead him to the room Ichigo was being readied in, and opened the door to find himself in a chamber fragrant with oils and candles. Ichigo was kneeling in the middle of it, clothed in a sheer green yukata. He had his normal scowl on his face, but his every muscle was tense. Byakuya had never seen his posture look better.

"Hisagi came in," Ichigo said, referring to another student at the dojo, one that was already in a wakashudo relationship. "He tried to put his fingers up my ass. It was really strange, I mean, I barely know the guy."

Byakuya resisted the urge to sigh and hit his face with his palm. "Yes, well, would you rather not be prepared during your first time? I can tell you now that a man's nether regions do not lubricate and stretch the way a woman's does."

"No, I mean, I get that," Ichigo said, a blush rising to his cheeks. "But, I mean, can't you do it? It'll be better if it's someone I know well, I think."

"Fine," Byakuya replied. "Lay down and open your legs."

He kneeled down and grabbed the nearby bowl of oil as Ichigo did so. As Ichigo bent and spread his legs open, his robe fell open of its own accord, revealing a soft, pink cock that hung over heavy balls, and a small pink hole to match.

Byakuya coated two of his fingers liberally with oil, but only moved one of them to Ichigo's hole. With the pad of his fingertip he pressed against it, just slightly, not overlooking the hitch in Ichigo's breath as he did so. He started to rub small circles around the rim, applying gentle pressure against it. Ichigo was tense, that much was obvious. It wasn't for a few minutes that the small hole opened up, the ring of muscle opening to swallow his finger up into the first knuckle. Ichigo gave a strange sound at the intrusion, half strangled in his throat.

"Are you so nervous?" Byakuya asked, as he worked his finger deeper inside of the boy. He was tight, ridiculously so.

"I guess," Ichigo breathed out, sounding as tense as he felt. "Kenpachi's a great guy, but this is still so strange. I mean, I just met him."

Byakuya nodded. Usually a samurai and his apprentice would spend a few years together before the actual wakashudo ceremony; Byakuya and Kenpachi had been together for four before theirs, though that was considered a lengthy amount of time to wait. But considering the fact that Ichigo would come of age in only three years, the typical courtship period was being dispensed with.

"Besides," Ichigo said, as Byakuya pulled and pushed that finger in and out of him, "since I was a kid and Dad made you give me lessons, I thought I'd be doing this ceremony with you. I always thought you would be my nenja."

Byakuya nodded, not surprised. Ichigo was growing warmer, softer, and the next time he pushed his finger back in he pushed in a second along with it. Ichigo's breathing hitched, but he didn't make an audible noise this time.

"I would have taken you as my wakushu," Byakuya said, as he twisted his fingers inside the boy, "but I felt that Hanatarou needed me more. I had confidence in your abilities; I knew that you would become a great samurai no matter who your nenja was."

"I know," Ichigo said, but by now his voice was more a moan. "I know that's why you picked him. I don't mind, really."

Ichigo seemed pliable enough now. Byakuya removed his fingers completely, watching as that now glistening hole closed up slowly around them. He placed the oil on the ground and leaned down over Ichigo. He pressed one kiss against Ichigo's lips, then laid his forehead down on the boy's.

"Don't be nervous," he whispered against Ichigo's lips. "Kenpachi is a fine man. He will treat you well."

Ichigo nodded. He did, at least, look a little bit more relaxed. "I'm glad you're here, Byakuya."

Byakuya nodded as he moved away. He left the room, leaving Ichigo to mentally prepare for the ceremony.

When he got back to the ceremonial room, he saw that Kenpachi was already on the other side of the screen. He could see his silhouette behind him, clear against the flickering flames. Ukitake held a finger to his lips, as though Byakuya had to be reminded not to speak, and Byakuya sat down. Several moments later Ichigo was led into the room, and his silhouette as well appeared against the screen.

Ukitake cleared his throat before he began speaking. "Today we are here to bear witness to a sacred tradition, a tradition that is integral to the samurai way of life. As long as there have been samurai there has been wakashudo, otherwise known as bi-do, the beautiful way. For there is nothing more beautiful then for a young samurai starting out on his path to be able to grow under the tutelage of a strong and accomplished lover. As you drink from this sake cup, think deeply about the bonds that will soon bind you, as these are bonds that will last the rest of your lives."

In elegant, practiced movements, Ukitake pushed the ceremonial sake cup through the bottom of the srcreen. "Now, vow your intentions, and drink from your shared cup. Zaraki Kenpachi, until the day your wakashu comes of age, you will not gift your seed to any other man, nor take any other male as a lover."

"I will not," Kenpachi said.

"Kurosaki Ichigo, until the day you come of age, you will not receive the seed of any other man, nor take any other male as a lover."

"I will not," Ichigo replied, and his voice seemed confident enough.

"You will now seal your contract as we bear witness. Let your emotional bond be sealed with a physical one."

In the silent moment that followed Byakuya swore that he could hear Ichigo's heart beat, the boy was so tense. But then Kenpachi reached for him, and their silhouettes seemed to melt together. Kenpachi pushed Ichigo onto the futon covered-floor, and Byakuya could see Ichigo's legs rise into to air around Kenpachi's waist, though the rest of them was a tangled black mass. The sound of loud kisses filled the room, the sound of moist lips and tongues meeting over and over again.

Byakuya knew the moment that Kenpachi penetrated his new wakashu. He could see the harsh thrust. . . no slow, gentle easement. He could see Ichigo's legs jump up a little into the air. He could hear Ichigo's strangled cry, a soft "aaahn" that went straight to Byakuya's groin. And then they were rutting, moving against each other like animals in heat.

There were some details that Byakuya could make out, even in silhouette. The way Ichigo's head was thrown back in absolute pleasure. The way his hands clung to Kenpachi's shoulders. The raw power Kenpachi was using to thrust into the other man's body.

And then there were the noises. The noises Ichigo was making were enough to make Byakuya regret not taking him as a wakashu. They were hiccuping types of moans, short and relatively high-pitched, elicited with every hard thrust into him. And each one bespoke pleasure unmeasurable. Byakuya could feel his cock grow hard just from listening, feel in grow uncomfortable in the confines of his fundoshi.

Kenpachi thrust into the boy over and over again, each time harder than the last. Byakuya could tell when Ichigo was about to come, because his back arched and his toes curled, and then he cried out so loudly the whole dojo must have heard him. After his orgasm his body relaxed, limp, upon the futon, even as Kenpachi kept using it to achieve his pleasure. After several moments Kenpachi came as well, grunting loudly as he shoved himself as deep into Ichigo as he could, before collapsing on top of the boy.

Byakuya was painfully hard now, but it would go away soon enough. Ukitake nodded at them, signaling that they could leave, and they made their way quietly out of the room.

The next few days passed easily. Ichigo was absolutely glowing under Kenpachi's tutelage, and Byakuya was more than happy to have Kenpachi back at home. Yasuhiro had even taken a shining to him, and was spending more time at Kenpachi and Ichigo's home than he did in he main residence. Even Hanatarou's swordplay was improving. Byakuya had never felt so incredibly content in his life. . . that was, until the daimyo himself came to visit the Kuchiki estate.

It happened on one of the coldest days of winter. Kenpachi, with the permission of both their wakashus, had stayed the night in Byakuya's bedroom. They lay spooned together, Byakuya's chest pressed against Kenpachi's back, Byakuya's outer leg and arm wrapped around Kenpachi's torso. Byakuya was the first to awaken, as was the usual case.

Careful not to disturb Kenpachi, Byakuya sat up and unwound himself from the other man's body. There was something different, almost, in the air, something he couldn't exactly place. Feeling a little unnerved, Byakuya got ready for the day and then made his way to the main hall of the main residence, where he found the servants in quite a flurry of activity. His initial thought was that his wife had gone into labor, and they were running to prepare for the midwife, but then one of the servants stopped before him and bowed.

"Byakuya-sama," he said. "The daimyo just sent a messenger to announce his arrival."

Byakuya frowned. What on earth could the daimyo possibly want on such short notice? He made his way to the front of the main residence and looked down on the rest of the estate. The house was built on the highest point of the grounds, and from here he could see the gate and a little of the land in front of it. And there, clear as day, a procession was headed towards his house.

"Is tea prepared?" Byakuya asked, turning back to go into the house. "And what about food? Is there enough?"

As the servants assured Byakuya that everything was taken care of, Ichigo appeared at the house.

"Byakuya? What's going on? I heard my dad's coming here."

"I'm not sure," Byakuya said, "but the most we can do is wait here to greet him. He'll tell us what the situation is soon enough."

It didn't take too long for the daimyo's entourage to make their way to the house, and soon enough he was stepping over the threshold as Byakuya and Ichigo bowed down.

"Ichigo!" Kurosaki Isshin called, as he raced to wrap his son in a big hug. "I've missed you so much!"

Ichigo, for his part, sidestepped the hug easily enough. Isshin stumbled over his feet as he ran past Ichigo, falling face first on the floor. Byakuya frowned. He had been witness to many acts of dignity and bravery on the part of his daimyo, so he wasn't sure why Isshin insisted on acting the jester for most of his time. Perhaps it was some kind of tactic? Getting the enemy to underestimate him?

"Dad," Ichigo said, not even helping his father up from off the ground. "Why are you here?"

Isshin grinned as he got back up off the ground, smoothing the fabric of his silk haori. "Oh, yeah. Well, we might as well sit down to talk about it. Got any tea, Byakuya?"

"Yes. Should I wake up Kenpachi?"

"No, no, let him sleep. It's probably better that way."

Byakuya frowned at the answer but didn't say anything. He led them into the living space, where they all took seats around a rectangular low table. In addition to some of the daimyo's trusted advisors, Yumichika, Ikkaku and Kaien were there, the first two staring at Byakuya with concerned expressions. It did not bode well.

"So, Byakuya," Isshin said, as he took a cup of tea from one of the servants. "Have you noticed anything odd about Kenpachi lately?"

"Not at all," Byakuya replied.

"Really? Nothing different from when you last saw him?"

Byakuya shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Byakuya," Yumichika said, "but we went back to the caves where you last saw Kenpachi. And we found something."

And just like that a long wooden crate was carried into the room. It shook as it was carried in, and seemed on the verge of falling apart as it was laid on Byakuya's table. Everything in Byakuya told him that he didn't want to look inside, but he was getting up regardless, his steps carrying him to the box. Inside was a skeleton. In the skeleton's hand was the Kenpachi's old sword; the one he had been using when the cave had collapsed. Byakuya wanted to reach out, to touch it, even as he felt like crying.

"We already had Urahara inspect it," Yumichika said. "And the measurements fit Kenpachi exactly, based on his estimates."

"It's compelling," Kaien interjected, "but hardly conclusive. There are a million reasons why this body would be there, and a million reasons why it might be holding this sword. For all we know Kenpachi dropped it while running out, someone came in later, picked it up, but couldn't find a way out before dying. And it's a skeleton. Urahara's good, but I don't see that he can perfectly estimate the measurements of a body when all the flesh is gone."

"You believe that our Kenpachi is the real one, don't you, Kaien?" Byakuya asked.

Kaien nodded. "He's the same as I remember him."

"What about you, Byakuya?" Isshin asked. "As his wakashu, you were the one who knew Kenpachi the best."

Byakuya felt all eyes turn towards him. That chill that had settled at the bottom of his stomach earlier was growing now. He looked at Ichigo, whose was obviously waiting for Byakuya to deny the allegations. Ichigo had been happy, Byakuya knew, these last few days. Byakuya had been happy, in a way he hadn't been in a long time.

"There's no doubt in my mind," Byakuya said, each word slow and measured, "that this is really Kenpachi."

"Well," Isshin said, "if that's what you're saying, it's good enough for me. Yumichika, Ikkaku, do you have any objections?"

The two men shared a look between shaking their heads.

"No," Ikkaku said, "not right now."

"In that case," Isshin said, "I believe we're done here. At any rate, we should leave before the fog rolls in."

"Fog?" Ichigo asked.

Isshin nodded as he got up. "I'm leaving on a tour of some nearby towns, and there's a heavy fog rolling in from the west. We should leave before it gets here."

Ichigo nodded. "Be safe, Dad."

"Aww, is my only son worried about me?"

Isshin made a completely idiotic face as he asked the question, and his expression brought a scowl to Ichigo's face.

"Don't be an idiot, old man." Ichigo muttered, pushing Isshin out the door.

"Okay, okay, I'm leaving already."

"Lord Kurosaki," Byakuya said, before Ichigo pushed his father completely out, "what are you going to do with that body?"

"Hmm? Well, bury it in an unmarked grave, I suppose. There's nothing more we can do."

"I see."

After everyone left Ichigo shut the door and turned around.

"Can you believe that?" Ichigo asked. "Why are Yumichika and Ikkaku doing this? I thought they were Kenpachi's friends."

"Yes, well, I'm sure they're just doing what they feel they must," Byakuya said.

"What's going on out here? Did I miss something important?"

Ichigo and Byakuya turned to see Kenpachi standing in a doorway, his large frame filling up the space.

"Nothing," Byakuya said, sending a sharp glance Ichigo's way.

"Yeah," Ichigo replied, catching on. "Just my dad coming to visit me before his trip. You know how he can be an idiot."

Kenpachi laughed at that. "Yeah, well, idiot or not he's still the daimyo. I figure he can come visit whenever he wants, huh?"

"I guess," Ichigo replied, scowling.

"Let's forget about your dad for now. I could use a bath."

"I'll come with you."

"Byakuya," Kenpachi said, "you coming?"

"No," Byakuya said, noticing that Kenpachi wasn't wearing his bag right now. "I'll take my bath in the evening."

"Suit yourself," Kenpachi said, turning and walking away.

As their footsteps faded away, Byakuya stood up and started to walk back towards his bedroom. He stepped through his door and closed it behind him before heading for the small, cloth bag that lay on the floor. With careful hands he lifted it, then took a seat on the floor. He stared at it as it sat on his lap. His hands just wrapped around it, unmoving. It was difficult for him to decide if he even wanted to open it, or if he wanted to just put it back in its place.

Eventually, the need for knowledge won out. With shaky hands he untied the strap holding the opening together and watched as the cloth folds of the bag fell apart. A soft glow filled the room as it opened, and Byakuya's eyes widened ever so slightly. He reached in and pulled out what he had found. It was a large white flame, flickering to and fro, suspended in a transparent globe. The hoshi no tama of a kitsune.

Byakuya stared at the glowing orb for a long moment. Then he slipped it back inside the bag, and let the bag fall back onto the floor. He sat with his hands in his lap, staring out into space, his mind on a lonely pile of bones that would soon be buried in an unmarked grave.

The door opened, and Byakuya looked over to see Kenpachi standing there.

"Sure you don't want to come?" Kenpachi asked. "Servants are filling up the bath with hot water."

"No," Byakuya said, staring up at the man in front of him. "I'll pass."

But he stood up and walked towards the other man. His hands reached out, feeling the man's chest. So real, so substantial. He looked like Kenpachi, acted like Kenpachi. So what was the harm, then, of living as though he was Kenpachi?

Byakuya leaned forward, arms wrapping around the taller man, only to enjoy the feel of arms wrapping around him.

"Thank you," Byakuya said, "for being here."

"Where else would I be?" the man asked.

Byakuya nodded and buried his face in that broad chest. Kenpachi made him happy. And though this happiness might have been built on a false dream, but if Byakuya never said anything, never did anything about it, perhaps he would never have to wake up from it. He deserved this. He deserved Kenpachi.

Byakuya looked up. "Maybe I will join you, after all."

And Kenpachi's answering grin was like a home, comforting and familiar. Hand in hand, they walked together towards the bath, and Byakuya pushed from his thoughts any remembrance of the lonely skeleton of the morning.

This was Kenpachi, Byakuya decided.

There had never been any other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some quick words on this fic:
> 
> Part I came about because of two ideas I had. I wanted to write a Ken/Bya fic, and I wanted to write a Edo-period fic. The Edo-period fic was originally going to be a Ren/Bya, Grimm/Ichi, with Renji and Byakuya as samurai, Ichigo as a half-demon ronin, and Grimmjow as an enemy demon turned ally as they all journey through Japan trying to find and kill Aizen. Well, I scrapped that, combined it with my Ken/Bya idea, and added wakashudo to the mix, for even greater historical accuracy and some fun smut.
> 
> Part II was actually inspired by a fic I read more than a decade ago, back in the day when most fanfic writers had websites and posted their work there instead of on archives like this. It's probably gone from the internet by now; I don't remember the name of the fic or author, unfortunately. It was a Gundam Wing het fic with Duo as a priest and Hilde as a sanctioned mistress of Hiro's. I took two elements directly from that fic: being caught masturbating in nature and forbidden priest sex in the confessional. I put my own spin on them, of course, and I suppose they weren't the most original elements to began with, but I liked them in that fic and if I hadn't read them there I probably never would have thought of this story.
> 
> In its very early planning phases, Part III was going to be a Byakuya/Ichigo. It was going to be about Ichigo convincing Byakuya to be his nenja. As my notes evolved, though, a Martin Guerre situation popped into my head and this was born instead. Though I couldn't help but sneak in some Bya/Ichi interactions anyway. I quite like the ending I decided to go with (my original idea was more ambiguous). It's a happy ending that's actually very sad.
> 
> Any guesses who the kitsune is? In addition to being the kitsune from Part I, he is also someone from the Bleach universe. Though you never see his true form, who else could it be but. . . Gin? At least it's Gin in my mind, you guys are perfectly welcome to imagine other scenarios ^_^ When I began this fic I was going to put a demon in each part. The oni in the first part was, in my mind, Yammy. I was going to put Yoruichi into the second part as a bakeneko who was stealing from the church and brought a corpse to life from the graveyard, but it just didn't fit into the plot. Sorry, Yoruichi!
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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